I Never Knew Myself
by fitsoverfitzwilliam
Summary: Elizabeth, married to Mr. Darcy, begins to find she never knew herself at all. Accepting the proposal made in Kent out of duty to her sister, she starts to feel she may have misjudged the man who professed his ardent admiration.
1. Chapter 1

The rain fell like tears upon the windowpane. Each drop a reminder of how far away she was from everything that was familiar and right in Longbourn. Normally such dramatics would cause her to bristle. Did it not sound like something one of her younger sisters might say or something to be read in a silly novel like the ones Maria Lucas read? But it was true. She ached for the noise and the chaos and even her mother's frantic and verbose expostulations on any and every subject- her Papa holed away in his study, Jane's gentle and serene smile, the plunking of the piano by Mary's fingers and the profuse giggling of her two youngest sisters as the entire house was thrust into uproar by their silliness. She knew not how long she sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, but she found she had ceased to care. What did it matter that she chose to remain in her chambers? She had done as expected. She had rallied herself admirably to get through a wedding, subsequent wedding breakfast, even a wedding _night_ , but little had prepared her for a long journey into Derbyshire and the introduction of a new life she had scarcely wanted. She sighed and began to pull at the long strands of hair that had fallen loose from its plait in all of her frantic fussing, her consolation being that she had spared her sisters from an imminent life of poverty spent amongst the hedgerows if the worst should ever befall them.

Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy. Her new name. No longer was she Lizzy Bennet of Longbourn. That person had ceased to exist the moment she signed her name beside his in the church registry, her quick scrawl nothing to the elegant and measured hand of her new husband. She had cared little for the beauty of such a moment, but had been stricken that his larger hand did not shake as hers did. Other ladies, desirous for a rich husband who owned half of Derbyshire, might have shown some semblance of delight at such a moment, that record that the lady would now be under the protection of such an illustrious man. She only attempted indifference, her dark eyes flitting to the F and then the D. She had not even considered what his Christian name was until a sennight prior. She was sure she had heard it when he was introduced or later when her mother went on to abuse him with her typical zeal, but it held no great importance to her and surely _she_ would have no cause to use it!

Mr. Darcy had always been an unwelcome trespasser in her thoughts. Having made himself profoundly disagreeable from their first meeting and every meeting thereafter, this all seemed so irregular! He had declared her as merely tolerable, not handsome enough to tempt him, and was from such a family that he was destined to marry into a powerful house and not into a country estate in Hertfordshire of no consequence. That he had even asked for her hand had been the greatest shock. That she had accepted- she had only the rest of her life to regret it or find some measure of good within! She anticipated the first and felt the latter to be the greatest of impossibilities!

Having turned her girl Lucy away and claiming she had no desire to go below stairs for breakfast, she was finally alone to her thoughts. No husband looking to her expectantly with an expression of mute displeasure, no lady's maid asking a litany of "would you rather"s, just the soft pattering of rain amid recollections and the desperate wish to return to the life she had known before last September when Mr. Darcy had reluctantly entered their comfortable little assembly.

"What is fifty miles of good road?' He had once asked her. Fifty miles of good road had taken her from all she had known and loved. Fifty miles of good road now meant she was tied to a man she did not, could not, and most assuredly would not love. A man she was convinced would be the last man in the world she would ever be prevailed upon to marry. It was her own fault, truly, for accepting him. It had been a wretched spectacle, both the proposal and her stilted acceptance. She had spoken her answer without delay, betraying her senses and all she held in careful regulation. Stupid, thoughtless girl! What had possessed her to fling her wishes and hopes aside? Was she truly thinking of her family's hopes or had she wanted to merely spite the man who had been the means of destroying her beloved sister's happiness in having Mr. Charles Bingley as her husband?

She felt the heat rising to her cheeks at the thought of having shared a bed with the man who had so passionately declared his regard for her in the same breath as offending her and insulting all that she held dear. The act itself had not wounded her as much as the knowledge that she was now tied to him for life. In the end, he had been exceedingly gentle. What vexed her greatly was that he was exactly the opposite of how she imagined he might be, though she certainly had never imagined him in that capacity at all! With her mother's summary of what was to take place, mortifying as it was well-intentioned, she had found herself curiously awaiting the act of consummation. That she would be alone with him was disconcerting enough. That she would be alone, unclothed and abed with him was another thing entirely. That he had kissed her, whispered endearments, caressed and stroked her hair when it was done- she could honestly still not know what to think of that! Her mother had spoken of none of those things and the strange intimacy had continued to confound her. The entire notion of a marriage bed would for some time. There was no part of her that would believe what she and Mr. Darcy had done was ordinary. She flushed crimson and brought her hands to rest against her flaming cheeks, the unwelcome thoughts disturbing the peace she was seeking to find. Mr. Darcy. Her husband. It was singular and strange but even she, so determined to despise him, could not show disgust in the face of what had resembled true affection for her and concern for her welfare.

He could hardly be sensible to why she had married him. As arrogant as he had proven himself to be, he likely could not begin to believe she thought ill of him. She had not even had a moment to explain her conditions of marrying him before he had appeared before her with such an honest and open expression of goodwill. As she had never seen its likeness in his former expressions, she had neglected to relay what would have been her own strong list of objections to him. As she had also never stood so close to a man as to notice the curve of his lashes, she had remained rooted to the floor, that treasonous thought striking her as he came even closer. They were a sooty black, curling up in the most enviable fashion and rendered a softness to his countenance.

Her curiosity at seeing him thus had been of no benefit to her. Her surprised expression, to him, must have been sufficient encouragement to do as he wished! She had found herself set upon in haste, the recipient of warm lips pressed to her own. The kiss had been gentle and tentative. Had she been overwhelmed by love, she might have swooned for it, but her shock was far too great for such. She had not known what to do. Striking him seemed cruel. Fleeing would be cowardly. Standing still seemed as good an option as any, but he did not act pleased by it. Her unwilling hands eventually came to grasp his forearms. It would be Mr. Darcy who would determine if the movement was one of passion or entreaty to cease. It seemed he believed it was the first and so she abandoned her hope in the latter.

In the end, her objections were not spoken of. As strong as her dislike was for him, she was not so cruel as to inflict pain and bitterness on a man who, despite his penchant for behaving so abominably, professed to ardently admire and love her. It did not go to say, she was moved by it. Rather, it had served as a means to an end. As she had already refused one proposal, it would not do to refuse a second by a man who, equally as ridiculous, could perhaps be of use in securing the happiness of her dearest Jane. At last one of the Bennet girls might have a chance to marry for love. That girlish wish, spoken in the full bloom of youth, that she would not be induced into matrimony but for the greatest love, would be carefully packed away with the rest of her old things.

Her solitude was to be short lived. The very man who inspired all this reflection had strode into her chamber as if he had every right to do so. There had not been even the courtesy of knocking. She would flush once more. Of course he would have the right to do so. He was a man. This was his home, she his wife. She was another piece of property, taking place among his manifold possessions. She glanced to him as blandly as she could and then continued her preoccupation into her thoughts as she turned her face to the window, finding it fitting that the rain was now blowing sideways and some of the trees looked to be tossing and pitching in the wind that followed behind. Tossing and pitching. Was that now the nature of her feelings? Would they always be as such?

"Elizabeth, " he would speak gravely, his voice a mixture of softness and gruffness, her Christian name unexpectedly filling the silence of the room, sounding odd when said in his voice.

She expelled a sigh and arched a brow, turning back around to look at him with expectation. "Sir?"

"Are you not hungry?" There was a slight twitch to his lips as he asked and she briefly wondered at it before she saw the door begin to crack open behind him, a servant bringing in a couple of trays.

"I…," she began, but she was unable to finish when she saw the sight of the fare. Enough for her and all of her sisters, by far! She looked to him curiously, her own breathless and disconcerted smile beginning to appear at being caught by surprise. " I could eat, sir, but I am not sure I shall begin to make any sort of progress with that!"

"That would be _extraordinary_ indeed, but it is not all for you."

"Oh!" was all she emitted, a somewhat embarrassed expression taking hold of her features. Her gaze fixed on him, and she watched in some semblance of astonishment as he thanked the servant quietly and motioned for her to come sit on the bed. Surely he did not think- breakfast where they had just the night before-? She flushed once more, feeling quite missish and highly ridiculous. He made quick work of beginning to prepare a plate for her, performing this task with more grace and alacrity than even the most experienced servant at Longbourn. He seemed to think her appetite very great, and she could not help but stifle a giggle at this sudden strangeness. She looked to him in great shock. It was all very odd and troubling to her, and her eyes settled on the unruly forelock that grazed just above his dark, furrowed brows. His concentration was great, and he looked dreadfully out of place in such a domestic scene.

She had not expected his eyes to meet hers and she looked away uncomfortably to have been found staring. "Mr. Darcy, surely you know you did not have to have the kitchen go to so much trouble on my behalf. I am grateful for it, but I am -"

"I shall tell them to prepare less tomorrow, " he said brusquely. "But you must be hungry. You hardly touched your dinner last evening."

That was no falsehood. She had been too preoccupied with pushing it across her plate, too overwhelmed with what had been soon to take place.

She had wordlessly nodded her thanks once more, and looked to her plate in hopes of summoning a very large appetite and not losing the contents of her stomach.


	2. Chapter 2

Darcy was not so naïve to think Elizabeth in love with him, but he was assured affection would bloom with time. The ardour he felt more than made up for the deficit of feeling, and he had not yet come to resent her for it. She had certainly been anticipating his proposal; there was no denying that.

It was fruitless to pretend that they had not shared the closest of intimacies the night before. Having traveled from Hertfordshire with such haste meant that both were exhausted when they at last reached the inn that would serve as the divide on their journey. He had assured her that consummation could wait until they were to Pemberley and he had watched in beleaguered astonishment as she had turned her face away from him, her shoulders shaking as she lost herself in relief that such a thing might be postponed. His heart had gone out to her, preventing him from visiting her room while at the inn. He felt, for the first time, that she might be fearful of him, for he had certainly overheard the rudimentary advice her mother had wished to impart while visiting at Longbourn before the wedding.

He had been seated with his soon to be father-in-law in the man's study in the pathetic occupation of being bested at chess when such instruction came to pass.

There came Mrs. Bennet's shrill voice from somewhere else in the house as she had cried, "And where is Lizzy?! I must tell her of her wifely duties! Jane, do go find her!"

Darcy had blanched and then flushed, wishing more than anything that he might fade into the floorboards, but Bennet had only chuckled, waving his hand dismissively as he gestured back to the board. The walls of Longbourn were thin, however, and he was soon privy to the sound of Elizabeth begging her mother to lower her voice, that gentlemen were present in the house and might hear her. The matron had clearly not cared, for she continued and Darcy was captive to things he imagined he would never hear, especially when seated across from his father-in-law in a house full of young, unmarried ladies.

Bennet had quit the room with a long-suffering sigh to seek an audience with his wife and perhaps pry her away from her mortified daughter, but it was not before Darcy had heard that which the lady had intended to say.

"From the looks of him, Lizzy, Mr. Darcy is most accustomed to getting what he wants. You would do very well to make yourself acquainted with the ceiling, for you shall be staring at it quite a bit." Darcy could not make out whatever Elizabeth's shocked reply had been. She had the delicacy to not raise her voice as her mother had done. He could only imagine the degree of shock glittering in her magnificent eyes, the exact shade of pink her face must be. He winced as the next piece of advice was given. Where in God's name was Mr. Bennet and why had he not taken control of his wife?! And perhaps of less importance- why was there still whiskey in the man's decanter on his desk? The Lord knew he would have drained it if in such an unenviable position!

"It is not something to be enjoyed, rather _endured_ , your duty to your husband. You need only worry about getting with child and he shall likely choose to secure a mistress in Town! La, don't look so surprised, Lizzy! It is what men of Mr. Darcy's sort _do._ "

Darcy had felt the outrage of such a declaration and lifted a hand to slide over his face in horror as he murmured, "At least, in that, she is wrong!" If Elizabeth had anything at all to say to what her mother had spoken, he did not hear it and soon he was able to make out Mr. Bennet's heavier tones as he rescued his favourite child and spared her from the more troubling truths of the marriage bed.

When the night came that he would visit her bedchamber, the joy that might have accompanied such an occasion had been somewhat dampened by her resistance to his attempts at passion. His kisses had met unyielding lips. His caresses had seemed to inspire only the barest of a tremble. There had been a moment or two that she had seemed to take some semblance of pleasure at the trace of his fingers over her bare skin, but she had refrained from any sort of reaction after, biting her lip or digging her nails into her palms when he drew nearer. He had felt her clenched hands and had brought one of them up to his lips to kiss her knuckles as she had breathlessly asked him to blow out the candles. He answered her that it might be more frightening in the dark. She had accepted resolutely and merely nodded, her dark eyes rising to meet his.

As uncomfortable as it was to him, it must have been tenfold for her, though he was spared the humiliation of her clamping her legs together as he had climbed over her. There had been a curiosity in her eyes as she regarded him, modesty coupled with courage. Her courage would always rise at every attempt to intimidate her, or so she had once said. He had approached her with a delicacy and restraint that he had not known himself capable of having. He was sure she would not break, but he had thought tenderness would better serve him.

Her first inclination, it seemed, had been to study the canopy above them as he had made his way within her-the way she had been instructed. His brow had furrowed and he had carefully stroked her cheek and bid her to look to him instead. Her cheeks had burned with color in the flickering candlelight, but she had done as he had asked. She had hardly winced the moment she was made his, but the sharp intake of breath had commanded his attention as he lowered his mouth to hers. She had shuddered and he had felt the warmth of her tears and tasted their saltiness as his lips passed over her face.

"There, my love, that is the very worst of it."

She had merely nodded and sniffed away the threat of more tears, closing her eyes as his lips next pressed to her brow.

Their rhythms were clumsy and did not match- she offering very little but bringing her arms about him once when it was evident she had no other idea of what to do with them. Her hands had tentatively rested on his back and he had felt her soft fingertips as they had moved to his hair. That part of him was not as objectionable as the other parts, and soon he felt her fingers twisting into his curls.

His release had been quick and violent and he had nearly collapsed against her, struggling for breath as she retracted her fingers from his hair and looked away. He rolled off of her and to the other side of the bed, finally rallying himself and flashing a breathless, if slightly shy, smile to her. "I thank you."

She appeared baffled by his thanks, but that bafflement was abandoned for confusion of a different sort as her gaze alighted on him. He followed her gaze and hastily yanked the sheets over his hips as her lips seemed to turn upwards.

"Sir?"

He looked up, halfway expecting to be asked why it had looked the opposite of what it had looked before. It seemed like a topic she would start with diverted enthusiasm, but he was wrong in his estimation.

Her tremulous tone and faint gasp were for something else entirely. Her cheeks reddened and she looked away, but he had already removed himself from her side to return with a wet cloth from the basin. In helping her rid herself of the unhappy evidence, he felt her gaze upon him. Having never bedded a virgin, he had altogether forgotten that there would be blood. Her hand shook and she collected the rag from him with a ragged, mortified whisper, "Pray, allow me… I was told this would happen, but I had not expected that it would be so…Forgive me. I fear it is all very messy."

"It is nothing. It does not distress me."

"I thank you for your kind attention, sir, but I must own that it does distress me." Her face reddened all the more as he moved to pull on his robe.

"I assure you that you are not the first it has happened to;nor will you be the last."

"While that is very helpful, sir, I pray you desist in speaking of it."

" Of course. Forgive me. I. . . Would you have me stay?"

"I could hardly send you from a room in your own home, sir. This entire house runs at your command."

He laughed softly and her eyes met his as he seized the rag from her grip and made his way once more to the basin, "Aye, you could certainly do so as there are rooms enough. These are your rooms and your bed.. But do _you_ wish for me to stay?"

"Is it the common way? I had heard husbands depart immediately after such proceedings."

"Perhaps not, and I cannot vouch for other husbands."

"Then stay if it pleases you."

"Might I hope to hold you?"

"If it pleases you, sir."

"Does it please you?"

"I cannot say."

In the end, she had allowed him to drift his fingers through her hair, and he had done so, feeling foolishly in love but happily sated.

"It will be easier with time," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her curls, but she had already succumbed to sleep.

"Goodnight, my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth."

* * *

When their breakfast dishes had been cleared, Darcy cleared his throat and murmured, "You are wool gathering."

Her eyes widened and she blushed in comprehension, "Oh!" An adorable line puckered between her brows and he longed to reach forward and smooth it, but she was all energy as she moved to stand, repairing to the window where it had ceased raining, "Forgive me. There is much to think of."

He had followed, wondering what beckoned her attention there. "You wish for a tour of the grounds, I know, and I am prepared to give it." Her look was one of surprise and he briefly wondered at it. "Call for your maid and wear your sturdiest boots."

"But it has just rained."

"Hence the boots. You and I are both sensible to a little bit of mud not being enough to stop you." His lips had curled into a smile.

"And will mud stop you, sir?" There came, at last, the enchanting sparkle he had longed to see again.

"We shall see. It shall certainly displease Cartwright."

"Cartwright, sir?"

"My valet."


	3. Chapter 3

She did not know what to think that he should so readily offer a tour of his home. Did not the very rich allow that task to fall to a servant? He had said himself in the carriage that many toured the house in the summer and that Mrs. Reynolds, his housekeeper, generally appointed herself to conduct those tours. She had flushed at his zeal to be so involved and then considered that his eagerness must be borne of more his pride than his devotion for her. That uncharitable feeling was set aside as she owned that he would be the best person to give her such a tour, his affection for his home perhaps surpassing that of even the most loyal servant.

He had quit her presence to leave her in solitude as she gathered her things to repair out of doors. His quiet knock at her dressing room door many moments later was startling, for she had not known she had tarried so long. Her mind had drifted from one unsettling thought to another, the last being the remembrance of his face above hers the night before. A bright flush suffused her cheeks as she opened the door, and she hoped that her appearance did not betray what her thoughts had been. She hardly knew how to classify them. What had she been doing? Had she truly been meditating on those things she wished to forget? Her face burned with mortification to have been so exposed yet she somehow was able to nod her assent when he asked if she was ready.

His gaze did not waver and Elizabeth had not the time to avert her eyes from his face. She caught the barest hint of a blush, and the thought of it being possible for someone like Mr. Darcy to do so sent an involuntary twitch to her lip which incited an answering and fleeting smile from him. Elizabeth felt herself continually disarmed by this unfamiliar expression on Mr. Darcy's face - it almost seemed wrong, somehow, that he should be capable of any pleasant sort of feelings. Such an expression had the power to render his face unrecognizable, and she could not dislike the change. He seemed younger, less severe and hardly like the man who had made himself so disagreeable in Hertfordshire those many months ago.

He offered his arm and asked, "Might not we go down, Mrs. Darcy?"

The rest of his words were nearly drowned out by the wave of disbelief that washed over her at hearing herself called the appellation. The name felt strange and ill-fitting, and she dwelt on the improbability of it all once more. She still felt like a "Miss Elizabeth", or "Miss Bennet" How was she ever to live up to this title? It was bad enough to hear it from her husband's lips, but Elizabeth was loath to think of her own family referring to her as such. She had been so preoccupied with the immediate events of her marriage that she had not begun to appreciate or grow accustomed to the change in station that was to mark the rest of her life. She colored once more when she became sensible that she had not been attending and he suggested they go quickly as it looked like more rain would soon threaten the success of their outing.

They walked down and were next greeted below stairs by Miss Georgiana and her companion, Mrs. Annesley. Elizabeth had met both ladies the night before and was gratified to find her new sister more at ease in her company. Georgiana was all politeness and reserve, though her eyes were exceptionally kind as her brother stated his intention of giving her a tour.

Georgiana came closer as she overheard Darcy asking that the curricle might be readied, and she smiled to her new sister, "Fitzwilliam must desire to show you as much of the grounds as he possibly can before the rain. A Derbyshire rain will keep us indoors most of the day, but touring the gallery shall be the next best thing. There are certainly rooms enough to keep you occupied and a history behind them all. You will not soon tire of Pemberley."

Elizabeth answered that she was sure she would not. Indeed, that could not be a falsehood! There were so many footpaths and gardens and hallways and corridors that she feared she would never truly grow familiar with the place.

A flush overspread Miss Darcy's face as if she was suddenly sensible to talking too much and she watched as her brother came to join them. Elizabeth observed in some wonderment as Mr. Darcy affectionately pressed a kiss to the top of the girl's head and asked if she had slept well and if she and Mrs. Annesley had a pleasant morning. It was an intimate scene and she felt as if she trespassed as Miss Darcy answered and was induced into conversation by her brother's quiet queries.

Elizabeth found herself genuinely looking forward to having a brief tour, though she would have much rather had her new sister as a guide and companion rather than her own husband. She could not help but be constantly reminded of Mr. Wickham's words whenever she was in his company, nor could she stop meditating on the role Mr. Darcy had played in Wickham's ruination. Not even the kindness shown the night before could sway her away from her original supposition. Wickham, her husband's father's godson, had been cruelly deprived of his living and forced to make his own way in the world. Even he, surviving as a soldier in the midst of such a grand betrayal, had said that Darcy was capable of pleasing where he wished. Her husband's dark eyes sought hers once more and she could not doubt it.

* * *

ElIzabeth's voice was full of warmth and had a pleasing and lively sound. He had heard its cadence and pitch when she was in Hertfordshire. He had silently observed that her laughter was the most joyous and beguiling thing about her, save for the enchanting and twinkling merriment of her dark and expressive eyes. He was cross for not hearing more of it and could do little about it. His ire grew tenfold when those lovely eyes were averted from him and he was unable to see her face.

They had quit the house rapidly when the curricle was called and he had silently handed her up, blanching when she hastily snatched her fingers out of his grip. They rode in silence, his wife surveying the passing scenery as if it were no great thing. He asked if her father made use of a curricle. She replied that he did. He asked if she had ever wished to take the reins. She eyed him warily and declined the offer. It soon became obvious that . Elizabeth was not made to be confined to any sort of vehicle, however, and he soon found himself suggesting they walk yet again.

Her countenance brightened, and he helped her down,"Ah, I do keep forgetting that you are an excellent walker. I suppose it would be in my favor to remember such a thing."

"You did tell me to wear my boots, sir, and warned me of mud. I did not think I would spend so much time seated, it is true. Perhaps when the weather is much colder I shall wish it. As it is, a small threat of rain will do little to quell my desire to remain afoot, no matter how expansive your park might be."

The wind blew an errant curl and he yearned to touch it and tuck it gently back into her bonnet.

"I believe you shall soon wish to return to the curricle. It is not here as it is in Hertfordshire."

The under gardener nodded to them upon their entrance into the side gardens and a groom passed by them at the garden gate. Taking notice of his master's inclined head, the groom took to driving the small carriage to the rear of the house and Darcy shook his head in mock exasperation. "You will soon change your mind."

They walked for some way before Elizabeth gasped. "The most lovely roses!"

It was said with more feeling than he had heard from her in some time. She forgot herself for a moment and moved to run before him, a delighted laugh falling from her lips as she moved to touch the foliage. "Ah, it reminds of my dear Jane. Jane loves nothing more than a beautiful rose, and these are perfection. I shall have to take some of their petals and send to Longbourn in my next letter. Would you mind horribly?"

There next came that enchanting, arresting smile. He was no longer his own master.

"Of course I should not mind. These are for the lady of the house. Right beneath your window, you see. . . ," he had pointed up.. "My father had all manner of roses sent to Pemberley for my mother's pleasure when she was confined with my sister. She would not live to see their second bloom, but I believe it pleased her very much. She died shortly after Georgiana was born."

It was not something he often spoke of, and he could not determine why he had lapsed into such grim tales when his heart, moments before, had been fit to burst. Elizabeth's eyes had widened, and he smiled tightly. " I hope they bring you pleasure. What a dreadful beginning that was. . ." He ruffled his hand through his hair and sighed. "Forgive me. I am not used to taking others about my home. I am sure Mrs. Reynolds would have said something with a great deal more refinement and less austere sentiment."

Elizabeth had remarked with heartfelt compassion, "I am exceedingly sorry that your mother was deprived of their beauty. They are very fine roses, sir. Your father must have been quite desolate when your mother died."

"He was," Darcy replied, his tone suddenly stilted and clipped. Elizabeth turned her face away and he could not see her expression. He was instantly contrite for it, but his contrition went unnoticed. She had walked on ahead of him toward some other part of the garden. How cold and wretched he could sound when he wished to not speak of something.

The tour would continue in much of the same manner, he remarking on something, feeling he said it all wrong and attempting to right it. Elizabeth was gracious to remain quiet, and he felt keenly the absence of her teasing. He was feeling quite morose by the time they returned to the curricle and rode some way to the first grouping of tenant houses. He wanted nothing more than to take the vehicle and ride straight back to the house, so awkward did he feel. There was nothing he could say that truly felt natural, and if his passions governed the day, she would have been taken back to his chambers and promptly made love to in a way that might convey the words he was so ill-equipped to speak. It was a hopeless matter entirely.

"As owner of so much land you have the power to do much good or evil, Mr. Darcy," said she, her dark eyes penetrating into his and disturbing his self-flagellations. "So many lives depend upon your will and whims for their own survival. How vital you are to them."

He fought the urge to chuckle, so oddly had she spoken, "Aye, I suppose so. But. . . do you not suppose that I rely upon their will and whims as well? Look what they do for me. I could never aspire to plow the fields on my own, turn out such profit. . I do hope they would say I have been good and _not_ evil. My father would be horrified to hear if I had turned out as such. He was an excellent man and would not have stood for it. He brought too much to this estate for me to leave it desolate with my own selfishness. It is not only I who is vital."

His eyes lingered on her face for a moment, watching her expression begin to cloud with thought. There was a noise in the distance that directed his attention to the houses, and he could not stop the grin that overtook his face when he saw the Carrow twins running toward him, no doubt eager to reach into his pockets and see if Mrs. Reynolds had sent him with sweetmeats from the kitchen. The little imps nearly trampled all over him before he was lifting them into his arms, laughing in surprise. They giggled and squirmed until he put them back down. Darcy waved to their mother in the distance and called politely over the sound of their joyful laughter while their mother began to fret in the distance, " They are no harm, Mrs. Carrow. No doubt they wish to meet their new Mistress!"

Elizabeth had watched in astonishment, but a small smile appeared on her lips and stood back to survey the new arrivals.

This had sobered the children and they looked to his lady in newfound curiosity. The little girl dipped into a curtsey as her brother following suit with a jerky bow. Darcy spoke kindly to them, "Ah, very good. I see you have not forgotten your manners. Mrs. Darcy, allow me to introduce you to Mr. and Miss Carrow, my old friends for the past five years."

The children squinted up to her in the sunlight and were suddenly all bashful smiles, murmuring shyly, "Good day, Mrs. Darcy." This caused for them a sudden moment of restraint and they looked to her expectantly, unclear of what to say next. Their silence was, however, interrupted by the presence of a third child, a child hardly out of swaddling clothes, making the motion for Darcy to pick her up and very determined to not be left out of any measure of excitement.

The child had no notion of shyness about her and was quick to divest Darcy of his hat, yanking it off his head as soon as she was up in his arms; it was clear she had done so before. He turned to Elizabeth with a smile, "And the youngest Miss Carrow here. Is she not lovely?"

The appearance of a newcomer seemed to be highly excitable to the child, and she was at once extracting herself from his arms and wishing to be held by Elizabeth, her large eyes widening further at the prospect of tugging at the ribbons of a bonnet.

As with children, their attention didn't last too long. When their mother thought they had dawdled for long enough, she called them back to her, but the children would not come until they had turned out Mr. Darcy's coat pockets, knowing that every time he ventured that way he would not leave them without a snack from his kitchen. Hat returned and a pleasant smile on his face, he returned his eyes to Elizabeth with a renewed warmth and realized somewhat belatedly that she had known not what to make of such a scene.

They had passed by the cottages, Darcy greeting his tenants by name and introducing his wife as they walked. He was regarded with the utmost respect and she with delighted surprise. There were a couple of concerns brought up to him and he listened attentively, careful not to linger too long lest Elizabeth grew weary of the litany of repairs that were needed.

"I shall be back as soon as I am able, then. If you are only able to patch it before this storm rolls through, I will see a new roof restored." he had told Mr. Breeding matter of factly after the recital of the damage, stepping aside to look up at the roof. " Where is the leak, you say?" Mr. Breeding had flushed to Mrs. Darcy, removing his cap, "If you don't mind, ma'am, might you spare Mr. Darcy a moment?"

Darcy had followed the man around the side of the house to inspect the greatest impact before returning to Elizabeth's side, shaking the man's hand and agreeing to return just after daybreak on the morrow with a couple servants to see what could be done to thatch the roof.

"Pray, forgive me," he spoke, when they were out of hearing, " Some might call me too involved with them, and you may find me so as well." He clasped his hands behind his back. "Well, this is the first row of cottages. There are more just beyond the treeline and into the woods there." He lifted his hand and gestured past the rolling pasture where an outline of handsome cottages poked out amid the dark of trees.

They returned to the curricle and he helped her up into her seat once more, his hand perhaps lingering on hers for a moment longer than needed.

"And next, Elizabeth," he spoke with levity, ". . . the great Pemberley waterfall, as majestic as a Derbyshire fall you will ever see." He grinned and drove them toward the sound of breaking water and turned his eyes to her. It was not a large fall by any means, but it was certainly large enough to be a wonder, so remote in its placement and so unexpected. The water crashed and gurgled and foamed as it fell into a rushing creek below. "There is a small cave just beneath it. . . not so very large, but enough to enchant me as a boy. I nearly drowned thrice before making it in. My cousin, the colonel, still teases me about it, as I'm sure you would not put past him. The two of you take such delight in teasing."

"I have never seen such a magnificent spectacle, Mr. Darcy. And here I thought my Oakham Mount was the grandest place I had ever seen. I shall now have another wonder to compare it to. I thank you for showing me this. I had considered the wilds of Derbyshire might be a magical place, but I never foresaw that I might live in a place with a waterfall so nearby. It is a wonder, sir, you were beckoned away to Hertfordshire at all. I would not so readily wish to leave such a scene."

"Indeed," he spoke softly, his gaze lifting to the sky, "But we must, for here comes the rain." .

Darcy helping her down from the curricle with a gentle expression, his eyes thoughtful. " I hope that was tolerable and that you are pleased by Pemberley."

Never had a man so wished to kiss his wife.

Who was this man? He was hardly the same personage who had walked into the assembly rooms back in Meryton. Here was an earnest man, a knowledgeable, sensible, and kind man who seemed to have the capacity to do very much good. She found herself surprised that he held his parents in such high esteem. There was no talk of their worth in the world or their standing, only the odd memory here or there- his mother's roses, a trout stream that he had visited often as boy with his father, a cave beneath a waterfall where he had nearly drowned. These were all the same sort of memories she had. She had never once attributed any of these to such a man. He was the sort of man who had worn a starched collar as an infant and a severe and critical expression. And had his reaction to her sympathy been the beginnings of grief? She could not know.

And then the children! At ease with them, smiling, laughing, playing! With sweets in his pockets no less, paying court to an infant and doing her bidding. They had been unkempt, untidy, beneath him. Yet he had let them climb all over his fine person. What would Cartwright think, indeed?

But that was not the least of her shock. She was taken aback by his open declaration of needing his tenants. Master and landlord of an ancient estate, he had confessed his own weaknesses and lauded those farmers who did what he could not do. He called upon them personally. Each of them had known him by name, had shaken his hand, had offered refreshments and shyly regarded her. He was returning to help repair a roof in the morning.

Her father had never taken such an active interest in his own tenants. It had fallen to her and Jane to deliver baskets, to report back to him what they were in need of, to knit scarves and mittens. He had stayed mostly to his library and had given them nary a thought and her mother had certainly never deigned to go. She was ashamed even for her own opinion of their tenants when she saw how her husband was among his own.

As Mr. Darcy handed her down from the curricle, his eyes locked with hers. "I hope that was tolerable and that you are pleased by Pemberley.,"he said the last half of his sentence in a softened tone, laden with emotion. For the first time during such a moment, Elizabeth willed herself to maintain eye contact with him and found herself surprised and colouring at the sight of so much affection etched upon his face. He leaned in a little somewhat, but his advent was interrupted by the bustle of servants walking by them. Elizabeth exhaled a breath she did not know she had been holding, as Mr. Darcy slipped her arm into his and led her back into the house, all civility and careful composure.

"It was more than tolerable, sir," she confessed as she looked up to him, the word giving her pause as he had most certainly used it in the past. His eyes warmed, and she felt her cheeks following in kind. "I do not know who could dislike such a place, and the waterfall, as I said, is most glorious. If I could only bottle it up and send it back to Jane, too."

This produced an answering chuckle, pleasant in its own right.

"After we eat, I shall show you the gallery. Centuries' worth of Darcys. All more glorious than the waterfall," he remarked as they proceeded towards the dining room. Was that mischief gleaming in his eyes? She could not be sure, but she thought it was.

"I am indeed _brimming_ over with anticipation at the prospect of learning the names of a few dozen Darcys. Pray, do not keep me in such suspense, sir."


	4. Chapter 4

**Edits made! Thank you for the keen eyes. :)**

The rain fell harder than it had earlier that morning, and Elizabeth was taken by the sight of it as it pummeled the earth. The grounds were made to look more verdant and green against the dark grey of the sky, and she admired them all the more for it as she stood at the window and awaited her husband joining her in the gallery.

Georgiana had claimed his attention shortly after luncheon with a letter she had received from Lady Catherine and she was so distressed by it that Elizabeth could not regret allowing Darcy to attend to her. Having met the lady herself, she was sure it was containing the most severe displeasure at her nephew having married her.

As Darcy had written to say he would abolish his connection to the house of de Bourgh, a fact he had relayed to her early in their quick betrothal, the letter was likely an appeal or an attack on the sensibilities of a vulnerable younger sister. She thought back to the paleness of Georgiana's face, her hand shaking as she placed the missive in her brother's hand.

She turned to the sound of boots clicking in the hall behind her. He appeared with a grave expression, his ire evidently fanned by what he had read.

"Pray, I hope my addition to the family has not caused your dear sister to suffer unduly. Should you, perhaps, remain at her side and we postpone the tour until tomorrow?"

"It is not that. Our cousin Anne has fallen. Her health, as I am sure you witnessed in your time at Rosings, is very fragile."

Elizabeth could not help but feel pity for the creature who lived under Lady Catherine's command and her brows creased as she thought on the sickly girl. "I am distraught to hear it, sir. I hope she is on the mend very soon. Shall we make plans to go to her? Surely her spirits might be buoyed by the addition of her cousins? Perhaps an olive branch might be extended. In such a circumstance, family might be very much needed. The degradation of my presence might be overlooked in lieu of Miss de Bourgh's comfort."

Darcy's face hardened into a mask and he shook his head. "I do not think it wise. Your concern for her is, indeed, very kind, but I cannot see my aunt bearing it with any sort of good will. My aunt seems to blame you for the fall. Let us proceed with our plans. I will write to my aunt when we are concluded."

She said no more on the subject and instead made to follow as he walked before her, though she could not see how she would have had anything to do with Miss de Bourgh's ill fortune of a fall. The hall was long and filled to the brim with opulent, gilded frames and enormous portraits dating back to the very noble beginnings of the Darcy family. Darcy's recital of these names and personages was reserved and formal, and Elizabeth could not help but be diverted by such gravity as he introduced each one. Were these not the very people who had so much to do with his standing in society? Were these not the ones who had made a union with her unsavory? These illustrious people, he hardly had time for! He seemed more bored than anything.

With a much gentler tone, Mr. Darcy introduced her to a portrait of his own father and mother. The late Mr. Darcy had his son's warm eyes but his features were more angular and severe. Elizabeth was not sure what to make of him. Her account from Wickham was that he had been the kindest man who ever lived. Even Darcy had remarked that his father was an excellent man. For such opposite men to be united in their opinion, she decided it must be true and felt she might have liked him had she the chance to know him. Lady Anne Darcy had features that were similar to that of her sister, Lady Catherine, though her lips were turned upwards into a soft smile that Elizabeth was sure she had never seen on the other lady's face. Elizabeth could not help but return it, stealing a glance to Mr. Darcy who had ceased speaking.

Before they had proceeded further to stand before another great frame, Elizabeth caught sight of a familiar face on a miniature nearby. She hastened her steps towards it and ascertained her suspicion: it was Wickham! He looked significantly younger in the miniature, perhaps only just barely on the cusp of his twenties, though the picture was just as handsome as the original, but there was a smugness in the expression of this Wickham, an expression she had not been acquainted with in Hertfordshire. She sighed softly and turned about in time to see Darcy at her elbow, his countenance much changed from just before.

"I see you have gravitated toward your favourite without hesitation."

His tone was so cold that she instantly bristled and flushed darkly, not knowing how to formulate a reply.

* * *

She had been patient as he had led her through the gallery, following him with her hands crossed behind her back as she observed each portrait. He had waxed eloquent on several members of the family, their placement in Parliament, their role in scandal and intrigue, their all and sundry contributions to the country. He had observed the curve of her lip many times in his explanations, her laughing eyes dancing as they came to stand before another portrait, that of his dear father and beloved mother. Expression sobering, she looked to him to hear what he might say.

Having left him only five years prior, Darcy's affection for his father ran deep as well as his great regret that, at their last meeting, they had parted with some harshness. His father had been every bit the perfect and solicitous master, but he had exhibited a weakness of character in allowing himself to be duped by George Wickham. It was something that haunted Darcy even now. He had not been able to account for his father's affection for the boy who had been so divergent to him. He supposed his father had appreciated Wickham's penchant for amiability and enthusiasm. As Darcy was by and large a taciturn and serious sort of young man even as a child, he had not possessed the power to divert or cheer his father as Wickham had. The late Mr. Darcy had dearly loved to laugh, had been eager for some sort of happiness when his dear Lady Anne had died on her childbed and was, perhaps, in need of having an aching void filled.. Having little use for an infant daughter and a grieving son, Henry Darcy had made use of the child who radiated all the happy satisfaction that had been stolen from him. Young Master Fitzwilliam had been sent away to school, and young George Wickham had enjoyed all the indulgences of a man with time and affection to suddenly spare.

Such musings were for another time and place, and Darcy steeled himself to continue with the tour, hardening his expression into one of inscrutability as Elizabeth admired his mother. Had she only known her! As a young boy, his mother had been some sort of angelic presence. The only things he could remember of her was that she was gentle and kind, a far cry from her older sister. Her happiness, it seemed, came from being his mother. Many miscarriages and stillbirths both preceded and followed his own birth and she was always careful to remind him that he truly mattered and was of great import to her and not only an heir. She was not the sort of mother who would let her servants raise her child. Darcy had been her shadow, she his guiding light. It had been wretched to lose her at such a tender age. But it _had_ happened. Life would continue in much of the same way. Henry Darcy had at one time looked down to his bride in the same way he looked to his own wife. God willing, there would be children and Elizabeth would not suffer the sad fate of his mother. Fortune was on her side. She had been one of five healthy births.

He was completely arrested by the sight of her. She had moved to the next portrait, a large rendering of himself. Darcy looked to her in quiet expectation, thinking she would expound on whether or not the artist's work was faithful to the original who stood at her side. But her lips had remained in their pensive line. Whatever thoughts she entertained seemed to be for her alone.

He would watch in some mortified horror to see her abandon his portrait, her attention commanded by one of the miniatures that hung off to the side over a small bureau. His face colored and then blanched and he found himself struggling for some modicum of control when the words burst from his tightened lips, disturbing whatever peace had been their portion that morning. What in God's name did she mean by flocking to Wickham's likeness with such unfettered wonderment?

"I see you have gravitated toward your favourite without hesitation." It was said most caustically, but he had little cause to regret it, for she was now blushing profusely as if she had been caught in some dreadful scene. She looked about for a moment as if she experienced the greatest confusion and then plead her sudden indisposition, holding up a hand as he was about to offer his arm to escort her back to her rooms. Even in anger, he was masterful in most civilities and felt a shock as she breathlessly spoke that she would not require his aid. His assistance denied, he watched as she padded down the long hall, slippered feet carrying her to whatever refuge her rooms would provide.

Sense caught up to him belatedly and he had soon gained the next floor and the hallway that would lead to their own private rooms. He stood outside the door that would lead to her chamber for a few moments, fuming desolately. He would not be spoken to in this way! Was he not the master of this house? The realization that she had not actually said anything would catch up to him after the unfortunate idea of bursting into her rooms. Whatever insult, real or imagined, seemed to be the source of his towering over her, chest rising and falling in the greatest vexation.

When he was once more his own master, he asked quietly and with forced restraint, "What do you mean by what just happened?"

She seemed unfazed by his nearness or the anger that flashed in his eyes, and it felt so much like a further mockery to his senses that he reached suddenly to grasp for her hands. "Why must you torment me by continuing to take such an eager interest in such a man? Am I so absolutely horrid by comparison?" He could not elaborate further and knew he could not, but the temptation was there to throw the entire sordid tale at her mercy. He swallowed thickly and, suddenly remembering himself, released her hands, shocked that he had even been clutching them.

God above, she was crying!

The acute misery was suddenly coupled with the damning thought that he must appear so weak and simple minded to have behaved in such a fashion. What sort of gentleman would descend upon his lady in such a way? He looked about the room uncomfortably, half expecting to see a maid ducking behind the drapes for the way he had barreled in. He closed his eyes in agitation and grimaced, opening them to see that she truly _did_ appear as if something ailed her.

"May I get you anything that might provide some relief?"

She shook her head, "I only need rest, sir."

"Will you not tell me what ails you?"

"A sudden headache. There has been much to take in the past few days. I am not myself."

"Do they come often with displeasure?"

"I fear so."

"Do you have affection for that man? If so, why did you accept me?"

* * *

She had fled his presence as quickly as she was able and had sat down heavily upon her bed, a throbbing sensation making its way through the back of her head as she did only had time to briefly massage her temples before, to her surprise, the door was nearly knocked off its hinges. There stood Mr. Darcy, his hands behind his back and his chest heaving greatly as he seemed to battle the greatest disturbance of mind.. She felt not a little irritated that her privacy had been invaded in such a way and her eyes closed as he neared her, her distress tantamount as he drew closer to speak.

"What do you mean by what just happened?" asked Mr. Darcy in a quiet but severe tone after a long pause. Elizabeth turned her eyes away, treacherous tears beginning to leak rapidly and mark their place on her cheeks. .

She was not sure if she still cherished any particular affection for Mr. Wickham. She had been too far away from him for far too long. There had not been affection? Surely, she was pleased by his attentions, but such a man, prospects gone, would have to marry very well. Mutual regard would not have had any sort of legs to stand on. It was something she had never really entertained, though her sense of justice for him was real indeed. He was a gentlemanly sort of man, to be true, and certainly behaved much better than the man who stood before her now, the man who shared no striking resemblance at all to the one who had, most of the morning, been attentive and considerate. She saw the potency of jealousy and could easily believe how he could have abused Wickham when his own interests were thwarted. Nevertheless, what Wickham had told her about the Darcy family still rankled strongly in her mind. Far more than any pleasing attentions she had received from the handsome Mr. Wickham, this piece of information had independently rooted itself firmly to Elizabeth's thoughts, and had indeed served as the foundation from which she furthered her acquaintance with Mr. Darcy. She now felt some wavering of her confidence in Wickham's reliability, but more than that, she felt the utmost of confusion descend upon amid the outrage of tears she had no wish to shed.

Elizabeth was rudely snapped out of her reverie when her hands were grasped in the most shocking and violent way. "Why must you torment me by continuing to take such an eager interest in such a man? Am I so absolutely horrid by comparison?" Mr. Darcy gasped as he squeezed her hands, almost painfully, with more open emotion than Elizabeth had ever seen in him before. His mouth gaped and closed as if wanting to continue his passionate speech and thinking the better of it. Elizabeth could only stare at him, bewildered and speechless as she was by all that had happened. It was evident that Mr. Darcy believed her still attached in some way to the memory of Mr. Wickham, and that it was possibly some form of jealousy that had reduced him thus. She did not know what to make of such an ill-founded jealousy, and so she only shook and pulled at her fingers, wishing to be out of his sight as soon as may be.

The display of emotion passed almost as quickly as it had come, as Mr. Darcy abruptly released her hands and seemed to regret his outburst, turning from her to pass his hand through his hair and then ask if he could supply her with anything that might bring about her relief.

She hoarsely answered him that she only required rest, thankful that her tears seemed to abate as quickly as they had come.

His next question was asked with the sudden reappearance of feeling, shocking in its raw animosity, the truth of his anguish beginning to feed her own need for the truth. Why had she accepted him?

"I. . . you asked me, sir, and I felt compelled to accept. I had declined another proposal shortly before and was made, by my family, to see what folly that was. I was of the belief another offer might never be made to me. You were the best means of restoring my sister's happiness and my family's future situation in life. I could not let such an opportunity or such a connection escape me. I am sorry to bring pain to you, but I can no longer allow you to operate under the misconception that I felt any sort of affection for you when I agreed to be your wife. . Indeed I feel affection for no man, and I fail to see how it could even begin to bloom here, with two persons so profoundly different from the other. You might recall that you chose to express that you liked me against your will, against your reason and even against your character. Or have you forgotten, sir? I was to be a degradation and disappointment to you, though you fancy yourself ardently in love with me."

Fan flamed, she continued with the words she had not been able to say that day in the sitting room at Rosings.

"I have wondered for some time how you were able to overcome your objections to me and yet so cavalierly destroy the hopes of my sister by interfering in your own friend's happiness. Do you deny it? You cannot, sir, for your own cousin told me how you rejoiced in your success. Do you think I could ever love a man who has been the very means of my beloved Jane's heartache, the same man who exposed her and her Mr. Bingley to the ridicule of the world? I would not, for a moment, even know how to comprehend those feelings of regard. But it was not there that my dislike for you was founded. Nay, long before that had taken place, Mr. Darcy, I was disposed to think ill of you when I came to know of your dealings with Mr. Wickham and the part you played there. From the very beginning, I think, your manners have impressed me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain for the feelings of others. This is evidenced all the more by the way you trespassed upon my privacy in your rage to be heard. It has laid the foundation for such an immovable dislike that I had not known you even a month before I felt you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry. But you asked why, and I am determined to tell you. I married you, sir, against the wishes of my own heart to bring about the happiness and comfort of others.. I accepted you, sir, but my heart _never_ shall."

A flash of surprise and hurt spread across Mr. Darcy's face at Elizabeth's words, and she moved back as he lurched forward, her heart hammering in her chest as he seemed to nearly stagger under the weight of her words. He blanched and colored in turn and flung himself around to grip the mantle, knuckles white and breathing heavily.

He turned himself about to face her, nostrils flared and eyes narrowed.

" Ah, it is all brought to the light then! I knew you took an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns."

"Who that knows what his misfortunes have been, can help feeling an interest in him?"

"His misfortunes!" cried Darcy contemptuously; "yes, his misfortunes have been great indeed. For so wise a person, I fail to comprehend that you were unable to see right through it all. You have blindly followed where he has chosen to lead you. I certainly thought you better than that."

"And of your infliction," cried Elizabeth with energy, ignoring his last words.. "You have reduced him to his present state of poverty by withholding the advantages which you must know to have been designed for him. You have deprived him of the best years of his life and of that independence due him. You have done all this, sir, and yet are able to treat the mention of his misfortunes with the greatest of contempt and ridicule.I am ashamed of you, sir. You treat your tenants and servants far better than the man who was your father's favourite. You agreed with alacrity to repair a roof of a man that was not as a brother to you, but you have thrown Mr. Wickham into the world, penniless and alone, his lodgings now that of a poor soldier!"

"And this," cried Darcy, as he walked with quick steps across the room, "is your opinion of me! This is the estimation in which you hold me! I thank you for explaining it so fully, dear Madame. My faults, according to this calculation, are heavy indeed! But perhaps," added he, stopping in his walk, and turning towards her, "these offenses might have been overlooked, had not your pride been hurt by my honest confession of the scruples that had long prevented my forming any serious design. These bitter accusations might have been suppressed, had I concealed my struggles, and flattered you, made love to you with words and disregarded those who made your situation all the more ridiculous. But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence. Nor am I ashamed of the feelings I related. They were natural and just. Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections?-to congratulate myself on the hope of relations, whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own? A mother-in-law who is all vulgarity and no discretion, a father-in-law who allows his youngest children to run wild and unchecked, the most determined and stupid flirts to have ever been seen. An uncle who is an attorney and his wife who is, without a doubt, the most notorious gossip in her country town? Relations in Cheapside! If it be your mother's brother, I am assured that he is equally as wretched as his sister with absolutely no sense about him. There can be no doubt in my mind."

"It is true then, sir. You are horrid by comparison. Hateful, spiteful and beneath my notice. I do not care that you own half of Derbyshire. You do not deserve it and you cannot deserve me."

"As are you for accepting me! And I believe, dearest Mrs. Darcy, that my 10,000 a year had much to do with it. You cannot say that you do not care about it. You are more your mother's daughter than I gave you credit for. And you are quite right in what I do and do not deserve."

"I so wish now I had never seen you. This is sufficient proof that I can never love such a man as you. Will you be so kind as to leave me to my thoughts? Might I have hope that you shall behave in the ways befitting a gentleman? You have offended and insulted me in every possible way, and I wish you would leave." She shuddered through the new tears that trailed her cheeks, batting at her eyes desperately as he stalked past her to the door.

"I fully comprehend your feelings, Madam," came a low and icy hiss, "and have only to be ashamed of what my own have been."

There was no glance spared for her. She watched mutely as he quit the room before crumpling on the bed, shaken by sobs. What had she done? What could she do? Foolish, foolish girl! She had never in her life known such malice or regret.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: A few edits made. A little longer now. Thanks for reading! You guys are really great.

He had hastened from her sight as quickly as he was able, clenching and unclenching his fists as he walked down the hall. He blew out a puff of air when he was finally to the landing and clutched the banister tightly as if relying on it for its support. What was it about her that she had such power over him? She did not love him, would not love him, was opposed to him in every way. Wished she had never seen him. It was all too much, and he felt nearly sick for it, the contents of his lunch rattling along in his stomach and threatening to spill over any moment. He grimaced, the sour taste of the truth taking hold. She held affection for Wickham. She somehow held him close in that pure and faultless heart of hers. How infuriating to not absolutely hate her after such a confession! He heaved another heavy sigh and set his mouth in a grim line, a wave of melancholy falling over him with all of its crushing weight as he recalled how she had abandoned his side to rush to the very likeness of such a scheming, worthless. . . _How he loved her._

How could she so willfully misunderstand him? His proposal, his heart, his very nature- these things were all lost to her! Forlorn thoughts spun wildly in his mind, their power viciously clawing and tearing at his breast until he finally found himself fleeing from the house altogether, oblivious to whatever servants he passed along the way in his quest to free himself from the suffocating pain that seized him. What was he to do with her and this pitiful sham of a marriage? How could happiness even be attempted after such a morning? How could there be any hope at all? Elizabeth hated him. She had always hated him and worse than that, her head had seemingly been turned by man who would never be worthy of her.

What offer of marriage had she refused? His mind rummaged as he considered who her potential suitor could be. His aunt's simpleton of a parson came to mind and he found himself muttering under his breath. Elizabeth's wit and vitality would have withered and died as a clergyman's wife. _That_ clergyman's wife most especially. Thank God for small mercies. He had not joined such a man in the queue of jilted gentlemen. Darker thoughts seized him and he began to think a refusal may have been a kindness. What was the happier alternative, some moments of humiliation or the prospect of being tied to someone who would rather be anywhere else?

He set to the stables, ignoring the rain as it pelted him harder and harder, his hair slackening under its power and falling in dark lines against his forehead.. The groom had offered quietly that his horse seemed to be in a wild way that morning, but Darcy heard little of it, assuring him that it was no matter and that he was entirely accustomed to the varied moods of the beast and was no stranger to riding in the rain. Brutus was as volatile as his namesake and could give no blow of betrayal greater than the one just dealt him.

If he had expected to give little consequence to his young wife, his efforts were outrageously in vain. A jumble of thoughts assaulted him, the awkwardness of their first meeting, the subsequent delightful moments spent in her presence when he had been assured of her mutual regard for him, all things that were not there. How blind he had been! She was just as every other lady had been before her, marrying for material gain and her own best interests.

What had she thought of him when he looked at her so often at Netherfield? What did she think compelled him to seek out her company, conversation, ask her for a dance?! Foolish chit. Lord above, he had thought he had been courting her. That she had not seen, not desired, not known… _Damn it all straight to hell. Is there anything more unfair than loving someone who is determined to hate you?_

And yet she had accepted him for her own reasons. Perhaps he should return to her and speak his heart. No, not that. What? Open himself up for more censure? More pain when she finally declared that it was Wickham who held her beating heart in his hand? She really could not expect him to believe that she did not care for him when she had so openly declared her support! She had rallied to his side and championed him. What understanding existed between them that she would believe something so hastily told to her? He thought back to the Netherfield ball and how she had mentioned that she had just made the man's acquaintance. It took less than a month for Wickham to worm his way into her innocent heart.

But there were other memories from Netherfield that began to pain him, those that did not originate in a ballroom.

His wretched mind reeled and he brought to mind the very moment he knew he was a slave to her. Having spent a week in the same household as she cared for her ailing sister had secured his fate better than any promise from the cradle that his Aunt so adamantly clung to. She had bewitched him with her sharp and ready wit, charmed him with her guileless and arch sweetness, and snatched away his whole heart with her refusal to dance with him! What a lovely picture she had presented in her refusal- "Despise me if you dare!"- he recalled those laughing eyes as they sparkled so, those perfect rosebud lips as she returned to her book and left Miss Bingley to the office of badgering him. But that he had kissed her right there. He would have, too, had the room been cleared. Perhaps not. He had certainly _wished_ to. Hang the Bingleys and the Hursts. He was losing patience with them all!

And then the following evening when he had tried to rid his mind of her by stealing away to read _any_ volume that might have been in Bingley's paltry library to have found himself stunned by the sleeping form of the very lady he was hoping to forget! She had been reclined on the sofa, those dark and rebellious curls spilling out of a plait as her long, dark lashes rested like fans against her perfect, porcelain skin. She was in her night shift and her cheeks were bright with the vigour and health of youth even as she slept. He had been lost to her in that moment, fully lost and wondering what it would be like to always see her in such a state, to taste the sweetness of those glorious lips! What might it be like to pay no heed to the objections of taking her as a wife? His thoughts had never taken him so far, and he felt the very real danger of paying her far too much attention.

His heart would swell once more to think of what had brought her there. She had likely stolen away from the sickroom to have a moment of privacy, a reprieve from being such a devoted nurse to her sister. He had squinted to see what book she had found in the meager offerings of his friend's library, but it was impossible to make out without truly hovering over her. She was doing exactly as what they had spoken of the night before, improving her mind by extensive reading, the exquisite creature. Had she known he was speaking to her? Was this sojourn to the library an attempt to improve her mind by further study?

He stood rooted to the rug, too enchanted to think of leaving. His hope of quitting the room silently was dashed by the sound of her book falling heavily to the floor and the lady beginning to stir. He moved as quickly as he could but was unable to escape the room entirely. Veiled under the cover of the heavy, dusty curtains, he waited in horror to be found out, cursing his ill luck. What man of eight and twenty found himself in such a predicament? Apparently him.

She had collected herself soon enough, for he had heard the soft padding of her slippers on the floor and a quiet cough as she had quit the room. He had waited for a few more moments before he emerged from his place, breathing a frantic sigh of relief that he had not been seen. How close he had been to discovery. What would he have done?

He had hastened to leave only to be stilled by the sight of a small embroidered handkerchief left on the settee with the initials EB. He crammed it into his waistcoat pocket with nary a thought and considered he might return it. In the end, he had not returned it as he had set out to do. The small square burned through the pocket of his waistcoat and nearly into his flesh, a reminder of everything he had hoped for that day, and it had become a silly ritual to shove it into the same pocket, something that would make Cartwright only shake his head. The act of keeping it was juvenile, ridiculous even, but he could not bring himself to part with it- not even when given ample opportunities to do so.

He rode the horse at a punishing speed, gasping in lungfuls of the crisp afternoon air as quickly as they came. Soon, he was nearly as lathered as the horse and felt a deep contrition for abusing the animal so fully. He had moved to pat the horse's neck and speak a word of comfort, a half smile touching his lips as the horse shuddered and turned its head to blow warm air through its nostrils in reply. If he could only speak to Elizabeth the same way he spoke to his horse. But women were assuredly not horses. This thought was a diverting one amid the other melancholy ones that plagued him, and he surprised himself by laughing fully. What a mad sight he must be, sitting atop his horse, alone in the fields and laughing at himself with not a soul in sight. If his wife were to see him as such, she would hike up the hem of those muddied petticoats and run to fetch a doctor to cart him to Bedlam. He felt he was already there. What might a change of scenery bring?

"I truly cannot fall much farther. Let her rejoice that she has driven me to madness. Despise me if you dare, Mrs. Darcy, by all means."

He felt his horse whinny beneath him and gently rubbed the beast between the ears, softly whickering for him to go. They had come to the clearing just before the falls, nearly on the cusp of the stream, and the horse was evidently growing skittish at the sound of the crashing. With a sigh, Darcy tugged at the reins with resignation, urging the horse to turn about. "Alright, then, we shall turn back. I know you do not like this place. I have taken you too far. I have taken this all too far."

He would not be able to account for the horse's sudden rearing, nor did he have the power to stop it. If an exclamation of surprise fell from his lips, it was soon stamped out by the descending blackness.

Mrs. Reynolds had been sitting at her modest desk when the cacophony from below stairs reached her ears, something about the under gardener. If it were spoken by Agatha, it was no doubt about the man's smart figure and his wide blue eyes. Sooner or later she would need to take the girl in hand. It would not do for a maid in the Darcy house to be mooning over- but what had she heard next? Mr. Darcy was as white as death, befallen from his horse!

She rose from her place as quickly as she was able and immediately sought the source of such knowledge- the under gardener, shaken to the core, and dripping wet. "I've pulled him out of the water, ma'am, but I can hardly carry him myself. He's frightful big. Has a big welt on his head. . . looks like it smarts something dreadful. It pains me to say it, but we shall have to shoot the horse. His leg is as shattered as the Master's head. Poor beast is miserable."

* * *

Mrs. Reynolds had maintained her appearance of calm, looking toward the dining parlor where her Mistress and Miss Georgiana dined just beyond. " I thank you to not raise your voice and disturb the ladies. I would not wish Mrs. Darcy or Miss Darcy to grow alarmed just yet." Inwardly, she fussed and wept. _Dear boy! Oh, what had he done?_ Mr. Darcy had never fallen from his horse, not in all the years he had been riding. His was as elegant a seat as any fine gentleman. She had observed him in the saddle many times, and there had never been anything lacking. Dreadful, dreadful turn of events! It would grieve him to hear of the horse. And oh, should the worst befall him! She was sure she could not bear it.

The young master had been carried in some time later, soaked to the skin and shockingly pale, all semblance of color drained from his handsome face save for the dark purple that grazed his cheek, the beginnings of a mottled bruise. She clucked despondently and moved to his side to feel at his neck for a pulse, brushing his heavy and sopping curls aside, withdrawing her hand to see blood on her fingertips, deep and red. "Heavens above, take him upstairs and call for the doctor! And someone please alert Mrs. Darcy. .and keep Miss Georgiana away. . . and water. . . we need water boiled quickly and bandages. Make haste!"

* * *

Her husband having quit her presence with such force and alacrity, Elizabeth alternated between pacing up and down the length of the room and scribbling furiously at her writing desk. She longed to write to Jane or to her Aunt Gardiner to confess the whole of the unhappy events so that those she trusted most might learn the truth of it all, that they might be able to assist in helping her to sort out the tumult of her feelings. This idea she quickly discarded as it would give rise to unwanted concern and alarm for her married state. Jane would be desolate to think she had put her own happiness on hold to pursue such a path and Mrs. Gardiner would appeal to come to Pemberley as soon as may be. As she was one of those _Cheapside_ relations her new husband was so staunchly opposed to, it would be all for naught. She could envision how it would be should Mr. Darcy become sensible of her confiding the most intimate details of their doomed union. Elizabeth had only to recall that look of outraged hurt on his face before he had left, and felt great inclination to pursue such a path. The letter she had begun, a series of scrawled, unreadable sentences about hating him was abandoned in lieu of a messy list of each man's merits and faults and the variances in Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy's accounts of their history with each other. There was only so much goodness between them that it must only belong to one and not the other, but _who_? She found herself firmly believing that Mr. Wickham had the right of it. Mr. Darcy could please where he wished, yes, but he was also capable of bringing about the most profound pain with his awful, unyielding measure of pride.

She sniffed and rubbed at her nose as the memory of his words stung her anew. Tears spiked fresh on her lashes and she halted once or twice in her desperate scrawls, an unwelcome sob causing her to lower her head into her hands. She could not forget what _she_ also had said and how she had said it. He had professed to love her, had made an offer based on that love despite her lowly connections and the mortification it would bring him. The confession of her own feelings, unequal as they were,had to come as a shock to him. She could not resent him for his pain. If she had ever felt love, she was sure that knowing it could never be returned would be unbearable. Oh, but why could she not desist in her tears? Poor Mr. Darcy for his heartbreak! And poor her for inspiring it! She had never felt so much desolation, and it was terrible to acknowledge the ache of it in her breast.

Her mind was a jumble of chaotic thoughts, and she could not decide if she would rather close her eyes and rest or repair downstairs to seek him out. Perhaps they could make amends. But to what end? She had spoken her piece, and he had told her that his good opinion, once lost, was lost forever. She was preoccupied entirely by the swinging pendulum of her feelings and could not be easy. Every time she made up her mind to hate him she would be reminded by the gentleness in his eyes the night before or the ease and friendliness he showed during their outing. She could not make him out. The variations in his temperament were so complete that she truly could not say she knew herself or the man she had wed.

She laid for some time upon her bed and stared at the canopy above her, her mother's words of instruction coming to mind. _Become acquainted with the ceiling._ She had tried to do that, knowing full well that her mother had experience enough with such things, but something in his eyes had commanded she look only to him. Such novel sensations, not all of them unpleasant, the curious gentleness that followed, those murmured and hushed sentiments, his potent and masculine scent -so unlike anything she had known. She was still sore from the night before, had not even time to _think_ on what it meant to be a man's wife and _already_ she had made such a mess of it. The hairs on the back of her neck began to stand, and she clapped a hand over the delicate skin as she recalled his breath, a fresh sob threatening to shake her again and destroy her hard won composure. She had truly never desired Mr. Darcy's good opinion. Why, now, did it bother her that it seemed so out of reach? She sighed heavily and let her hand drop to the side of the bed he had occupied just the night before.

When, at last, she had summoned the courage to go down to dinner, she was surprised to only see Georgiana, pale and fretful, and her husband's place empty.

"Is something amiss, Georgiana? Where is your brother?" asked Elizabeth gently.

"I am sure I do not know. A few hours ago, he stormed out of the house in a most unusual agitation, only saying that he wished to go riding with no heed for the rain. He left no word that he would be returning for dinner, but it is not his custom to dine from home," Georgiana murmured, her large eyes searching Elizabeth's face as she made to sit across from her. Elizabeth looked to her plate.

When Elizabeth did not reply immediately to Georgiana, she continued desolated, "What _has_ happened? Did you have a row with him? I have heard that the beginning days of marriage can be tempestuous."

This was said with a faint blush and Elizabeth lifted her eyes to fix them on the young girl before she called the butler to dismiss the servants from the room for the remainder of the meal. She was so desirous to confess her thoughts to another person that Georgiana, as the only other person in the home, seemed a suitable candidate.

She did not tell _all_ that had transpired between herself and the girl's brother, nor did she confess her reasons for accepting his suit. She censored the more displeasing aspects of Mr. Wickham's account of the Darcy family and neglected to relay her own unkind words of Mr. Darcy, ending with a succinct retelling of what had transpired so far and her confusion over who and what to believe of both men.

Georgiana's complexion soon turned ashen grey and the girl had not the energy to even push her food about her plate as she contemplated her new sister's words. They soon retired to the drawing room for more comfort and greater privacy.

"There is so much I wish to say, Lizzy," spoke Georgiana, once more using the name Elizabeth had said was reserved for her sisters and that she must use in place of the more formal Mrs. Darcy. "But I must begin by telling you that Mr. Wickham is nothing but a wicked liar and he surely deserves no part of the trust you have placed in him thus far."

This was said so vehemently that Elizabeth was keenly reminded of the girl's elder brother

"You are right to think my brother has not confessed the whole of the truth to you. His reason for doing so does him much credit. He has sought to protect me. By acting in such a way, it seems he has put himself at odds with his own wife. It is so like him."

" _You_? What would you have to do with Mr. Wickham? You were only a child when Wickham and your brother were friends. You would not have known much of him."

"Aye, Lizzy, but I was around him for the whole of my childhood and held such happy remembrances of him that I was disposed to believe him when he said he loved me and wished to marry me just this past summer." Georgiana's voice had faltered in this confession and Elizabeth watched her, stricken and horror-filled at such information and wishing to immediately discredit what the girl had shared. How old was Georgiana? Barely sixteen!

"I am so sorry, Georgiana, that I had not known before to spare you the pain of mentioning his name! The sorrow of your face must confirm the truth of it, but I cannot believe he would have behaved. Oh, I do not know what to believe... pray, do not think me unkind. . ."

"No, Lizzy, I must tell you all. I cannot allow you to continue with these misunderstandings about my brother, whose goodness to me I shall never be able to repay. I must undo some of the damage that has been done. How selfish and unfeeling it would be for me to allow him to suffer under the misguided belief that he should protect me from you. Let me say what I will. You will be ashamed to know me, but I must continue. I would not have you, my new sister, so misunderstood on the character of my dear brother."

The girl looked to her seriously, a thin and cheerless smile taking hold of her mouth. "How shall I begin? Mr. Wickham had been a friend of our family since even before I was born. The child of my father's devoted steward, he was a fixture in our lives. There was not a place we were to go where he would not be. My father was uncommonly devoted to him and my brother held him in a place of esteem. He spent many hours devoted to my childhood pleasure and I thought very well of him"

She drew a shuddering sigh and Elizabeth reached to clasp her hand across the table. Had not Wickham confessed as much?

"My brother and Mr. Wickham were firm friends as boys, always together and rarely apart. There was nothing Fitzwilliam would not do for him. I believe he truly loved him as a brother. They were extremely close. When they left for Cambridge, I saw them less. They would come back to Pemberley for the holidays, but after the first year, Mr. Wickham did not accompany him back to Derbyshire. I did not think much of it, so delighted was I to be reunited with my brother each time. It was ever so lonely with only my father for company. Whatever had happened, my brother never confided in me. It was around the time my brother graduated from Cambridge that my father's health began to fail. My brother returned to Pemberley alone, his friend seemingly forgotten. Mr. Wickham did not even attend the funeral of my father, the man who had funded his way through university or set him up as a gentleman. It was quite a blow to us all and I recall overhearing a conversation between my brother and my cousin as to why he did not come. My childish mind could not comprehend it, however, but it does not end there."

Elizabeth squeezed her hand even tighter and swallowed. "Go on."

"Last year, I was moved to an establishment in London, and my care was taken over by a lady named Mrs. Younge. She appeared reliable enough, and I trusted her implicitly. My health had been poor for many months and Mrs. Younge had applied to my brother to take me to Ramsgate for a bit of the sea air. My brother, ready to do anything that might bring about my comfort and diversion, agreed with alacrity. You may imagine my surprise when Mrs. Younge and I ran into Wickham in Ramsgate and he began to dine with us."

The girl picked at her necklace with her fingers and lifted her dark eyes to Elizabeth's once more, looking more like her brother than she had previously noticed.

"Mr. Wickham professed to be pleasantly surprised to meet me as well, and complimented me for how much I have grown since he had seen me last. I was flattered by his attentions, had been reading far too many novels at the time, and missed the society of my brother.

His polite attentions soon heightened to passion, and he was suddenly declaring himself to me, professing that he could not live without me. As it was so dreadfully romantic, I believed myself to also be in love with him. We would not waste a moment and would wed in haste, so deep was our affection. It was to be a complete secret between us, and we set upon a date to travel as far as Gretna Green to be wed. My brother surprised me with a visit the day before we were to leave. There was something in his manner that led me to confess all to him. I could not bear to bring grief and disappointment to him. He has loved me well his entire life, you see, and I would have been ungrateful indeed to hasten to Scotland with no word. I have never seen him so grieved and hope never to again. He acted swiftly and was kind to place no part of the blame on myself, though I know it was my own ignorance and silliness that caused such heartache. He would not have me mourning the loss of such a scoundrel, and so he carefully and delicately told me the whole of it. Mrs. Younge and Mr. Wickham were old acquaintances who had wished to ensnare me in order to win my fortune. My brother had been loath to shine light on Wickham's character, not wishing to rob me of the fond memories I had of him as a child, him being one of my only friends at such a tender age. Is that not boundless generosity?"

Elizabeth had nodded distractedly, her mind troubled.

"My brother then told me more about why all connection between himself and Mr. Wickham had ceased. My father had desired for Mr. Wickham to take orders, and instructed my brother in his will to allow Mr. Wickham a valuable family living as soon as it became vacant. After my father's death, Mr. Wickham wrote to Fitzwilliam to express his wishes of not taking orders and instead his desire to try a career in law. Many years hence, after refusing the living, he came back and demanded it, his circumstances having worsened. I learned later that he lived in a very bad way and squandered the whole of the money that had been given him, racking up debts at every roadside tavern imaginable. My brother, as you can guess, angrily refused him."

Elizabeth could feel nothing but shame and wonderment, knowing full well that such an account could not have been fabricated. She spoke earnestly as she continued to clutch Georgiana's hand.

"I cannot express how shocked I am to hear all this, Georgiana. Shocked, grieved. . .how much pain it must give your brother to even think of such a man. By your account, I have indeed been unjustifiably unkind to Mr. Darcy. I feel he has not deserved any of it." When she found her voice again, it wavered. " I must find him. I must apologize for how wretchedly I have behaved-"

There was a rapid and urgent knocking on the drawing room door. Elizabeth rose from her place just as the butler began to speak what had happened.

Georgiana immediately fell into weeping as Mrs. Annesley came to fetch her and Elizabeth followed behind Mrs. Reynolds and the butler, questions spilling from her lips as they gained the second floor and she was admitted into her husband's room. He was stretched out on his bed, his chest rising and falling nearly imperceptibly. She felt her knees begin to fail her and made way to a chair at the bedside, stifling a gasp at what looked to be a ghastly head wound and a garish bruise forming on his cheek.

The doctor had made quick work of attending to Darcy and turned to Mrs. Darcy some time later when she was allowed back into the room, " I think you are not to be a widow just yet, Mrs. Darcy. You must put away the appearance of contrition and practice your most beguiling smiles. He is a fine Derbyshire lad and made of stouter stuff."

He smiled grimly, "He shall be in a great deal of pain when he finally comes to, might not even know his own name, poor fellow. He has hit his head so hard it is a wonder he shall have half a brain left! If a fever does not settle in, he shall be very well after a few days of rest. I would not alarm yourself overmuch, but I would not hasten away from his side. I believe your husband shall be in need of your handsome face to liven his spirits. I have left some laudanum to dull the pain and can be quickly fetched it anything untoward should occur. Mrs. Reynolds knows where I may be found."

He continued with another half smile, " I would have you know that yon Fitzwilliam Darcy is not the most agreeable of patients. He does not like to be coddled, but you surely know this already. Or perhaps not," he relented, " You have only been his wife for not even a sennight. Exciting life you lead now, madam. Hasten to call for me straight away if fever persists. My firm wish is to have your husband fit as a fiddle and returned to you so that you are faced with many years of felicity. I am still shaking my head at such a rider falling from his horse in such a way. In all my years of serving this family, Mr. Darcy's only broken bone was from falling out of a tree, not tumbling from his horse. Gentles a horse better than any man I've seen. Oh!" The doctor had paused before reaching into his trouser pocket. "Methinks your husband must be a sentimental man. This was found with his pocket watch… I am told your Christian name is Elizabeth. I would hazard a guess this belongs to you, ma'am."

He had pressed the small square of fabric into her hand with a small smile and bid her goodnight.


	6. Chapter 6

Elizabeth, in a mix of guilt and duty, had hardly left her husband's side. In the days that followed the ordeal, she would be the one who kept to his rooms, the one who changed his bandages and quietly read aloud to him as he slept. She would not have him wake to not seeing her at his side, and so her own care was neglected in preference for the patient she had so misjudged. Having gained an education on the sort of man he was, she could not help but resent her earlier impressions of him and her eagerness to condemn him. She quietly meditated on the strength of her own vanity that had pronounced him as unworthy and thus felt sickened for so hastily judging him. As he had nothing but silence to offer her, she had many hours to ruminate on just how unfair she had been to him.

In her darkest moments, she took all the blame upon herself. Alternating between tears and bewilderment, she brought to mind all the moments spent in Mr. Darcy's company. Had he truly loved her the entire time? How thankless she was, how gullible. She thought back to Mr. Wickham. His countenance, voice, and manner had established him at once in the possession of every virtue. She tried to recollect some instance of goodness, some distinguished trait of integrity or benevolence, that might rescue him from the claims Georgiana had laid at his feet, but nothing came to mind. How charming he had been, how agreeable! And how eager she was to believe every word he had spoken.

Dwelling on it endlessly, she could perfectly remember all that had passed between her and Wickham that first night they were all entertained at her Aunt Philips'. She blushed to think of how much he confessed to her, a stranger! How could it have all escaped her before? How could she had been so blind to see it? He had spoken of having no fear of Mr. Darcy, that Darcy should leave Hertfordshire if he had hated so much Wickham being there. Wickham had professed he would certainly stand his ground. And then Wickham had done just the opposite by not attending the ball. It had disappointed her. This thought did not evade her. She had wished him to be there and had felt abandoned when he did not show as he had promised. And then he had so horribly abused Darcy's name when he had quit the county, though he claimed his affection for the father would never allow for him to expose the son in such a manner.

How differently did every thing now appear in which he was concerned! She thought to Miss Mary King and how dreadfully mercenary it was that he had played court there. Her mind struggled to make sense of it all, and she found herself, more often that not, in a pique of anger and confusion.

"How despicably I have acted," she whispered brokenly, her eyes fixing on her husband. "I, who have prided myself on my discernment. Had I been in love, I could not have been more wretchedly blind. But vanity, not love, has been my folly. I have been pleased with the preference of one and offended by the neglect of the other, on the very beginning of our acquaintance. I have surely courted prepossession and ignorance, driven reason far away where either were concerned. Till this moment, I never knew myself."

Humiliated by this discovery, she could hardly spare a glance to the young man in the bed without feeling her throat begin to tighten with the most painful constriction. Her eyes would instead fall to the crumpled handkerchief, abused beyond recognition in the time spent at his bedside. It had been one newly embroidered the previous fall, for that was when she had come into garnet thread.

She pursed her lips and studied him before whispering into the quiet of the room,

"Did you steal my handkerchief, Mr. Darcy, when we were under the same roof at Netherfield? I cannot place where it might have left me and ended up with you, but I suspect it had to be there. Unless you came across it whilst calling at Longbourn. And then I doubt dear Mama would have let you out of her sight. I certainly have no recollection of giving it to you, so it must be that you, a man ten times my consequence, found yourself in need of my handkerchief. Were you, perhaps, weeping? No, I think not. You do not seem the sort to become so overcome. Or were you sneezing? Your Mrs. Reynolds has told me that you sneeze when near Magnolias. It is only when they bloom? I know of there being at least two such trees near Netherfield. I would guess that you are not nearly so forbidding when you deign to sneeze." She teased softly, her voice faltering as she hoped he would wake soon.

She stroked the fabric gently. However it had happened, he had kept it, cherished it even, keeping it upon his person. It had been found with his father's own pocketwatch. Master of Pemberley, landlord of a vast estate and worth a fortune of 10,000 a year - that such a man should be so in love with her to keep her misplaced handkerchief as a token of his affection! She could not help but feel a rush of gratitude for such devotion. Despite not being able to nurture the same feelings, she could very sensibly own that she was flattered.

As he had not yet woken, Elizabeth had plenty of opportunities to observe her husband's features. He was, indeed, handsome, thought that was never something she had really argued against. She had been the one with features not pleasing enough to tempt him. She sighed at the remembrance and gently stroked her fingers along the line of his strong jaw, now covered in a few day's worth of stubble, meditating that it was this feature that perhaps rendered him so forbidding. There was a small cleft in the middle of his chin, another feature that bespoke of arrogance if there were those who felt inferior. She had never touched him in such a way and the sensation of doing so, especially with him unaware, was singular.

His lips were soft and his eyes had the capacity to convey a great depth of feeling. It was now that they were closed that she so keenly wished to see them opened. She swallowed thickly as her own eyes lingered on the gentle curl of his lashes and how boyish he looked while sleeping. "Oh, Mr. Darcy, what shall I even begin to do with you? When you wake, there will be much to speak of, and I am unsure of how to even begin. I have been making some shocking discoveries about myself, and I fear I do not like it. If you were awake, sir, I am inclined to think you would heartily disapprove. You must awake, sir, that you may voice your displeasure."

A servant appeared to bring her a bowl of broth and inform her of the horse, the girl's information only the kind that pushed her to tears. Mrs. Reynolds had been kind to make sure she continued eating. Her degree of care to her patient had been so fulsome that she had nearly forgotten the need to eat or claim her own rest. Exhausted, the news of the horse only furthered her guilt and despair, and she lowered her lips to tenderly brush against his forehead to whisper her tearful apology.

"I do hope you will one day forgive me my folly. I shall not forgive myself so easily."

* * *

He felt the pressing of a hand in his own, the warmth of another person's fingers against his. He swallowed and grimaced, a sudden and throbbing pain assaulting his senses as he began to blink. The edges of the room came into view, blurry and disjointed through the haze of his lashes. He turned his head to the side and groaned, wondering if his head was even still connected to his body. Indeed it felt as if it must have been severed entirely. "Good Lord above," he growled through clenched teeth, and he heard his voice break the silence, raspy and foreign to his own ears.

There was a movement that he observed from the corner of his eye, and his eyes fluttered open fully with some measure of belated surprise to see the lovely Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn limply cradling his hand in her own, her eyes closed and slumped in a chair. Elizabeth! He attempted to retract his hand as if stung, an expression of mortification colouring his features as he attempted to work his countenance into something other than shock.

"Miss Bennet," he said with feeling, grimacing once more when the effort to talk had caused the most dreadful pain to jar the back of his head. He moved as if he wished to bring his hand to cup the back of it, knowing that Miss Bennet must soon be privy to the sight of his brains against his pillow with how much it hurt. Her eyes flew open in surprise and his own widened as he took in the sight of his hand held prisoner in her remarkably pretty and ungloved hands.

"Mr. Darcy! You are awake!" She looked suspiciously near tears and he felt the weight of puzzlement fall over him.

"Why should you be here, Miss Bennet, of all places? My bedchamber! It is a sure way to see yourself compromised. I thought you too wise to ever -," he clenched his eyes closed and sighed, " No matter. Stay if you wish. I couldn't compromise you even if I wished to. I believe I must be half dead. Or feel like it at the very least. I am dead, aren't I?"

He thought he heard what sounded like a tinkering giggle and cracked open his eyes, a small smile touching his lips at the sound. How long had it been since he had heard it? Ah yes, perhaps when they were all dancing together at Netherfield. . . the 26th of November. Or maybe when she was playing the piano with his cousin Fitzwilliam turning her pages whilst in Rosings. She had surely not laughed the last time he was in her company, that dreaded day she denied him! Why was she here in Derbyshire? Was he even in Derbyshire?

"No threat of compromise, sir. I am your wife."

This information he was entirely unprepared for, and he opened his eyes fully to nearly glare at her. "You are most decidedly not my wife, madam. I believe I would at least recall marrying you. As you dearly love to laugh, I must assume you are wishing to tease me. As it stands, I must decidedly also believe that you are not here, that you are merely a figment of my imagination, madam or perhaps an angel of the heavenly realms coming to usher me to my Maker. The last that I heard of my name and yours connected in any way to matrimony was you declaring that I was the last man on earth you could ever be prevailed upon to marry."

Her face paled and she lowered her eyes to her lap.

This had caused an involuntary trembling of his jaw and he steeled himself until the trembling ceased, blinking tiredly at what he now knew was surely an apparition. Her expression had sobered instantly and he was sorry for it. "Do you deny it?" His lips curled into an unforgiving smile and he sank down into the pillow, groaning again and struggling to free his hands from hers to grip at the back of his head. "If you persist in this charade of being my wife, I believe I shall have to call on you to prove that you are by demanding your kiss. I would never connect myself to you if you would not have me, and since you will not have me, I believe this is all distressingly for naught. Forgive me, why are you here? Where is my sister?" He moved to try to raise himself up on his elbows and found himself being pressed back down into the mattress by an insistent, gentle hand.

" I am your wife, sir, whether or not you choose to believe me. I did not refuse your proposal. I have been so for nearing a week."

He snorted derisively at that, his dark eyes flaming with indignation. " Ah, yes. . . and I suppose I have lain with you as well? And what has happened and why do I remember nothing of it? Well that's just positively irksome, to not remember a thing of it. I would have thought that would be a memory forever burned into my heart and soul, for it has been the only thing I have thought about for the better part of our acquaintance. How do you like that then, Mrs. Darcy? From the beginnings of our acquaintance, I've wanted you as I've wanted no other."

She had the good grace to flush and withdraw her hand, looking anywhere in the room but at him, her face awash with disbelief and amusement, an incredulous laugh slipping through her lips as both courage and playfulness rose within her and she boldly returned her gaze to him to archly reply. "I find that hard to believe, sir. At the beginning of our acquaintance, you pronounced me as only tolerable and not handsome enough to tempt you. I hardly need tell you that I doubt your sincerity."

He sighed heavily and winced once more in pain, "How wretched for you to have heard me. I am sure I regretted such things upon saying them. Have I yet apologized for such a thing? I cannot remember."

"Perhaps I improved upon further acquaintance? I did so try to be uncivil in every dealing with you," she answered with levity. "You did not apologize, but you offered your hand. And told me you overcome your objections."

"And you appear to have accepted me. . . If I am your husband then, Mrs. Darcy, may you at least assure me that I have been a decent sort of husband to you? Do you have everything you require? Dare I hope that I am worthy of the office? Have I communicated the salient point that you are loved and revered? Do you let me call you Lizzy?" His dark eyes observed her tenderly, "It cannot be every day that I a man has the fortune of waking up next to a lovely wife he cannot remember taking. If you have accepted me, I must only assume you love me as well?" He moved to collect her hand in his once more.

She answered softly, surprised by how free he was with his speech when not master of himself. "I. . . you are not yourself, sir. May I get you anything for your pain? You have taken a bad fall and have quite the gash on your head. I would not wish for you to tax yourself overmuch."

He closed his eyes and grimaced. "I'm inclined to think this hurts more than not remembering a wedding night. If I were any less a gentleman, I might dare to ask if you enjoyed it. It would not do to fail the only woman I find worthy of being pleased. Might you tell me if we-?"

"Certainly not, sir." She moved to retract her hand from his again, but he tightened his grip upon her fingers and opened his eyes.

"It did not happen or you will not tell?"

"Sir, I implore you to get some rest. I will still be here when you awaken and may feel more inclined to speak on such things then. For now, my only concern is that you do not sicken and die from a festering wound and a fever. We have so lately been married. I would not wish to be a widow quite so soon. I would hardly know which dresses to dye for mourning."

Her lips curved into a smile, but his expression hardened.

"If I do take a bad turn then, make no mistake… you and your sisters shall be well provided for…" This was followed by a wince, and Elizabeth felt the stirrings of compassion as she brushed a gentle hand over his forehead.

"You are very good, sir, and I am sure it will not come to that."

The following days would remind her of her time aiding Jane at Netherfield, only this time her patient was not as agreeable by far. Her husband's waking spells were few and far between. She was gentle in her care for him, insisting to Mrs. Reynolds that she would not readily wish to leave his side and that she would remain in charge of his convalescence. There was no need for the house to stop running as it should.

There were a few times that he would be roused by her ministrations and awake angrily, accusing her of the most profound heartbreak he had ever known. It was fortunate that Mrs. Reynolds had been the only one to witness such outbursts and none of the other servants. The uncharacteristic bitterness of the patient was enough to rattle her even a time or two, and she hurried out of the room in a flurry, leaving Elizabeth to contend with the master.

She, by that time, had grown quite accustomed to the anger, knowing it would likely be followed by an alternating tenderness. She knew him not to be entirely lucid. This incarnation of him was a great deal warmer and certainly more vocal. As her disposition was lively and playful, she could not quell the urge to laugh when he was so changeable.

"You must tell me," he began with gravity, his dark eyes leveling on her upon waking, "Have we lain together? I am beginning to think it never happened. Won't you take pity on me and perhaps regale me with details?"

"You know that such details do not pass a lady's lips, Mr. Darcy," she smiled, hardly lifting her eyes from her book as she read. "I will have so much to tease you about when you are actually of a sound mind, sir. I hate to inform you of how embarrassed you shall be. Your mortification will be complete."

"Speaking of lips, did I truly have the honour of tasting yours? Oh! that I could just remember such a thing!"

"Perhaps you did, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth retorted mischievously. "You shall certainly have to work harder to recover, won't you?"

"It's certainly a mystery if I should ever recover fully, is it not? Perhaps you should aid my convalescence by just answering a few questions about our wedding night."

"I would aid your convalescence in every possible way, Mr. Darcy, except that one. I am afraid I will only disappoint you, sir."

An oath escaped him.

"Sir!" She cried in diverted astonishment, never having heard anything so colorful to come out of Mr. Darcy.

"No 'sir!' if you please, you little minx. You have no idea how many times that smile dancing upon your face at this very moment has both tortured me and yet brought me soaring towards…" He immediately ceased speaking and flushed. Elizabeth could not know what he meant to reveal, but she thought she saw a peculiar light in his eyes. "I think you take a particular delight in vexing me."

It was so like her mother that she giggled despite herself.

* * *

It was as Mr. Darcy was resting that Elizabeth took advantage of the time to bathe, change into a fresh dress, and repair downstairs. It had been many days since she had been below stairs and she could not help but feel happier for the small bit of freedom gained. Walking through the portrait gallery, she stopped to observe the large portrait of her husband. Why had she not noticed it before? Mr. Darcy's face stared out of the frame with an expression of quiet contentment, his lips curled only slightly at the corners in a smile of appreciation that she had so often seen upon him when he was looking to her. How handsome he could be when well pleased.

She sighed and returned to her musings, gasping only when she came upon the miniature of Wickham from the other day, directly beneath the impressive sight of her husband. Had she really failed to notice her own husband in preference for such a man? She colored at the memory, "Silly, ignorant girl. Had I only the eyes to see how heartless I must have seemed."


	7. Chapter 7

Darcy was not sensible to how he wavered between lucid and muddled thoughts. On the whole, he seemed to wake with a degree of confounded pain each time. And always, upon waking, his eyes would seek out and find the blurred image of Elizabeth, her smile quick and expectant. He could not begin to guess what prompted such expressions from her, but he readily basked in the warmth provided by her presence.

That she repeatedly assured him that she was his wife served as a healing balm to whatever wounded feelings he had chosen to nurse in his erratic musings. He was able, then, to overlook the persistent and questionable ache within his breast as he looked upon her.

To his great vexation, he could not recall even one blessed moment when she had allowed herself to be taken into his arms and he crossly told her so, vacillating between desperation and forcefulness. He was only rewarded with soft laughter and gentleness as she spoke to constantly remind him of that scene that had served to condemn him at the Meryton assembly. Why should he, the Master of Pemberley, approached with important tasks at every turn, be so concerned with how he fared with an inconsequential, _tolerable_ lady such as she? Had he nothing better to occupy his time?

At the third mention of herself being only tolerable, he cringed in remembrance and horror. "I had _thought_ you heard me and was mortified that I had stooped so low as to openly insult you. I had hardly lifted my eyes to you. You must know I desperately did not wish to even be in attendance. I was in a foul temper already, comparing myself to Bingley's guileless ease in company and despising him for taking such pleasure in what was so insupportable to me. How that man is intimately acquainted and beloved by the whole room in one hour's time absolutely astounds me. I am sure I never know how he does it. I only heard the clink of coin as my fortune was assessed by your mother and every other matron in the room. I would have turned on my heel and quit the place entirely had it not been of such import to him. You saw how he was enjoying himself."

She had looked to him thoughtfully, that archness she so often wore dissipating as she seemed to consider his words. She made as if she would start to speak, shook her head, and then nodded for him to continue.

He sighed,"I was selfishly determined to be disagreeable. I soon saw my error. Very soon after, I should say. You marched past me so defiantly that I could spend the rest of the evening looking nowhere else. Idiot that I was, I was too foolish to make amends and simply spent my time admiring you from afar, mortified by how unfair I had been and trying to sort you out. I confess that I did not quite know what to make of you. As it was, I was entirely robbed of the power of speech. I had not much inclination to speak to begin with. Your presence seemed to make it all the more impossible. You have chastised me once on the subject, so you know that I am ill-equipped to easily make friends. I do not relish speaking to those I do not know. I feel at odds. I do not make my way through society with any sort of ease. And sometimes, rarely, but sometimes …I am sorry for it. That night..I felt heartily ashamed for it."

Elizabeth had fallen into silence as he sought so fully to explain himself. This confession had tired him and he felt his eyelids grow heavy with the return of fatigue. He would then feel her fingers softly upon his brow and hear her voice without knowing what was spoken. His eyes would open and close, the tandem desire to remain awake clashing with the real and intense need to sleep. He would see what was close to a tender smile on her lips and yearned to withstand the heaviness within his head that beckoned he leave her. Words did not come as they should have and he drifted in and out of conscious thought, soothed into restfulness by the most pleasing gentleness.

Waking to see her was less startling each time, but he could still not comprehend that he had no recollection of marrying her. He was sure he would have been loath to leave her side in his newly wedded state, and yet he had left her on horseback and had gotten injured. He wondered at what horse it had been.

He asked this question hoarsely and noticed her brows furrow.

"It is alright if you do not know which. I certainly have many, but my favorite horse is called Brutus. I would hope that he is in good health. It would pain me to lose any of them to my folly, but certainly _he_ more than the others."

She had paled only slightly, murmuring gently, "I shall inquire, sir."

This prompted a smile as he saw the glint of his mother's ring upon her finger and seized her her hand to cradle it in his own as he relieved her of her book.

"If you cannot tell me that, tell me these things. _When_ were we wed then? And was your mother pleased? I would imagine she was."

"We have been married but a week, sir. Married from Longbourn. We had not been here two days when this came to pass. My mother was quite pleased, sir. It will only serve to widen the disparity in our situations by confessing this, but I believe she acted as if you were the very savior of mankind when you applied to my father. My father, however, thinks you the very worst of villains to take me so far from him."

Her smile made his heart soar.

"We had only been married not even a sennight before I foolishly fell my horse? Was I somehow in my cups?" It was all so unbelievable! Foolish man, to be wasting the precious early days of marriage on recklessness!

She coloured and looked to their hands, " I believe you were in possession of your mind, sir."

" _Not_ that I think you would lead a man to drink, Mrs. Darcy. I suppose any sensible husband of yours would wish to be fully sober in your presence. I am quite sure you would take advantage of my loose lipped state, in any event. I do not recall some things, but I _do_ recall that you take pleasure in folly and laughter. Only, what was I doing that I saw fit to ride off and abandon _your_ side? I am sure it must have been urgent business. You must tell me if all the tenants are well."

This seemed to distress her and she lifted his hand to her lips. "You are very good, sir. Let us return to happier subjects. Your tenants are all very well and wish for your return to health."

"Everything is well?"

"We need only have you better, sir, and we shall be very well. Are you comfortable?"

He grinned, " Yes, yes. Exceedingly comfortable. Let me see then. You said your mother was pleased. Did she crow about the neighborhood her pleasure of your new name? _Mrs. Darcy! How well that sounds. £10,000 a year!"_ His voice heightened in pitch and shrillness until he sounded like the very lady herself.

If he had harbored any worries of his teasing being taken badly, they were soon dashed away and all for naught as his lovely wife burst into a fit of girlish giggles at such a display from him. His grin widened, and he dipped into his customary accent, "But you did not _say_! Did she do so?"

There came a sweet expression of surprised delight on Elizabeth's face. She bowed her head, cheeks pink from her laughter and smiled. "I believe it was remarkably close to that, sir. I do think you must have heard her to be able to reenact the moment so faithfully. It seems you are beginning to remember much of how it was, Mr. Darcy."

"And were you and your sisters dragged to _the best warehouses_?" He had once more adopted her mother's tone. This inspired another bubble of laughter from her and she looked to their joined hands with a curious smile.

"You have certainly withheld your talents from me, Mr. Darcy. Your flair for the dramatic would surely be better suited to Drury Lane. I am all astonishment and begin to find myself in possession of hardly any accomplishments when compared to you."

There came from him a sudden sneeze and the withdrawing of his hand. She moved to collect a handkerchief for him, reaching for the one she had received from the doctor. "God bless you, sir." She pressed it into his hand, "I hope you are not beginning to suffer a cold. You were found in a stream."

He had smiled dismissively at the notion of a cold, murmuring his thanks for the handkerchief. His eyes widened at the sight of her initials in red and his face flushed scarlet.

"How did you come to be in possession of this, Mrs. Darcy?" He turned it about in his hands, his brows furrowing.

"I should think I could ask you the very same thing, Mr. Darcy." There was an extraordinary brightness in her eyes as she challenged him, that beguiling smile playing at the edge of her lips.

"I came upon it in the library at Netherfield," he answered simply.

"I would not think a man of £10,000 a year would be in need of my embroidered handkerchief! Did you intend to steal it, sir, to keep it among priceless treasures? You certainly have a supply of your own handkerchiefs, I should think?"

He stammered, not having for a moment considered that he had _stolen_ it. "No… no- forgive me, I should have returned it..but how _unjust_ of you to not see that I was simply retaliating. You had stolen from _me_ first. I merely demanded some sort of justice in the form of a token, madam."

She looked to him blankly, "I am sure I do not know what you mean, Mr. Darcy. I have never taken anything from you, at least not to my knowledge. Won't you enlighten me?"

An exasperated sigh stole from his lips when he finally uttered, "My heart, you silly creature. . .you have stolen it quite away."

Her incredulous laughter ceased as she reached to tug at the errant curl at his forehead. "I resent that, sir."

Crestfallen, he looked to her, "Why?"

"I have always been the most sensible Bennet daughter, never silly. I am most put out that you would refer to me as such."

Her lips would follow where her fingers had been and she pressed a kiss to his brow as he laughed, buoyed from the uncertainty that had crept in with the teasing he usually so adored.

"I fear I am tired again. Is it too much to ask you to stay? Not the entire time, mind you, but for a few moments? You must be so tired. I fear I am unworthy of such dedication."

"You are the master of this estate, Mr. Darcy. I cannot simply let you be uncared for, sir. The welfare of many depends on your health. You are a much better patient now than you were when I did not like you half so much."

"Then I have improved?"

"Perhaps in all but looks, sir. You do look positively barbaric. Quite wild."

He had begged her to bring a looking glass, and he chuckled in disbelief to see himself so disheveled and whiskered. "And you have shown such devotion to this monster, you singular girl. Might my valet be brought in to… _right_ this wrong?"

She had been diverted by his reaction and quietly reached to take the mirror from him. "Your valet is in Yorkshire visiting his ill mother, sir. John, the footman, takes over when he is gone, I am told. I will call for him."

"God bless him, but young John will not take a razor anywhere near my face again. I thank you to not ask him and beg you to consider the task yourself. Perhaps you have helped your father before? I'm sure you learned all sorts of things at his knee."

'All manner of other things, but my father most decidedly did not teach me _that_."

"Of course, you should not have been tasked with such a chore." He had sighed and drew a tired hand over his face and chuckled. "Nonetheless, it is _you_ that I trust to have a steadier hand than my footman!"

In the end, she had acquiesced to do the job herself. Although appearing to fidget in the beginning, she seemed to handle the blade quite admirably. For her own comfort, he had closed his eyes after the first tantalizingly close brush of the metal against his jaw. He swallowed and heard a brief titter from her as she continued. He heard next a faint gasp. The gasp was followed by a small sting, and he begrudgingly lifted his hand to the side of his face, his eyes flying open as he observed her momentary distress.

''Tis nothing to fret about; you've still a steadier hand than young John. Just resist the urge to slit my exposed throat and we shall have a merry time."

"I shall certainly resist. You are more amiable than I have ever seen you. I've certainly no cause to murder such a happy husband."

His eyes would warmly twinkle before he closed them again. He would be led to reopen them much later when she began to press the looking glass into his hand, signaling that she had done. He moved to sit up and inspected his face with careful scrutiny. "I believe you have done quite well, Mrs. Darcy. You did miss a very little bit here, though.."

He angled his chin when she furrowed her brow and came closer, a slow grin spreading across his lips when she declared she saw no such place. She squinted and drew even closer just as he reached to clasp her arms, raising up enough to tentatively press his lips against her own. Whatever she had been expecting, it was clear that she had not expected _that_ and she flushed as he withdrew from her, a soft and pensive smile on his lips. "There," he said gently, "now it is no longer a mystery. I should think it was every bit as wonderful as I considered it might be. I thank you for your diligent care, Mrs. Darcy. And now I wish nothing more than to do that again and again."

"You say that I stole your heart first, but now you've stolen a kiss from me, Mr. Darcy. I suppose we will call it quits now." Elizabeth smiled as she swept out of the room.

The doctor called upon them the following day as Darcy slept, smiling gently as he felt his patient's forehead. "Between you and me, Mrs. Darcy, I wager he wakes up in fine fettle soon enough. Perhaps start to edge off on the laudanum, ma'am. He has healed quite well. And if he is half sensical with the laudanum, we know his senses haven't been too addled. I have very little worries for him now. You've been an admirable and devoted nurse. He has flourished quite beautifully under your care. No doubt he is eager to return to you and give you his own care. I would advise you then, Mrs. Darcy, to see about your own rest. Your handsome husband is on the mend, I assure you. This fever is well on its way to breaking. Not a moment too soon, I think? I should think you are eager to resume life as a newlywed and not as nursemaid." He smiled knowingly and left the room, murmuring quiet instruction to Mrs. Reynolds on the way out as that lady was on her way in.

"Mrs. Darcy, we've a bath drawn for you in your rooms, ma'am. Bless your soul, you've not had a moment's rest, child. Now that our master is on the mend- I beg you would have your own rest after a bath."

It was later that day before the young master woke. True to the doctor's assessment, the fever broke and Darcy awoke to an empty room, soaked to the skin and shivering. He looked about the room in the greatest confusion before his eyes settled on the vacant chair beside his bed, an abandoned book on the table beside it. He attempted to squint to make out the words, but the sound of the door opening caused him to start.

It was Mrs. Reynolds to attend him. She brightened at the sight of him and said his name affectionately, "Mr. Darcy, sir, a pleasure to see you looking so well."

He looked to his housekeeper wearily, "I awoke from a fever. Won't you tell me how it all came about? Where is Mrs. Darcy?"

Mrs. Reynolds flushed. "It pains me to say this, Master Darcy, but you fell from your horse, sir. Brutus, sir. I am so sorry to say it, the poor beast's leg was shattered. You've been abed for a little over a week. And Mrs. Darcy? I am sure I could not say. The sweet dove went for a rest. Shall I send for her?"

Darcy absorbed this information with the gravest of expressions, lifting his brows only slightly when Mrs. Reynolds told him of his fall.

"No, pray. If you would be so kind, though… I am in need of a bath. Might some water be drawn for me?"

John would be called to assist with the task and soon Darcy returned to his rooms, feeling blessedly human but troubled.

The sight of his wife would greet him, flushed to be found in her robes. The sight disarmed him and he paled as she walked closer to greet him, a pleased smile curling her lips.

He found that he was instantly incensed by this expression on her face as the recollections of their early days of marriage came back to him. She could not be glad to see him. The realization combined with his weakened state caused his mind to reel and his heart to sink. He swallowed and looked past her shoulder before looking down to her, his eyes glittering even as he willed them not too. Would he never get over fresh hurt when it came to her?

"Mrs. Darcy," he greeted her, his dark eyes finally meeting hers, "You are free to resume your role as happily unfettered wife. I shall live. Unfortunately, I did not meet the same fate as poor Brutus. You won't be made a widow just yet, no doubt a disappointment. Better to be made a widow than to be shackled to a man you cannot-,"

He grimaced and stalked past her, "I'll be in my study if you need me. I thank you, most sincerely, for your attention to my health. I know it must have been a sacrifice of the greatest kind." He drew a hand over his face and turned back around to her. "I do thank you, Elizabeth. I only wish…well, it does not matter. I shall be in my study. Pray, concern yourself no more. I feel fine. A little embarrassed that you were made to care for me, ashamed for my clumsiness, and grieved for my sister who must be terrified..that is all. Shall you send her to me?"

* * *

Mr. Darcy was rapidly on the mend, and she felt a growing trepidation of his health returning fully to him. She could not easily welcome the moment when he was suddenly sensible of all that had happened before. It was rather ironic to have grown accustomed to the slightly feverish, muddled version of Mr. Darcy. She had never known him to be so easy and agreeable. Though he had, at times, fallen into a dark mood, the former haughtiness that had been so repugnant to her was quite abandoned. With that aspect of him changed, she found it more within her power to soothe his spirits into serenity and found herself more eager to know him.

Mrs. Reynolds had asserted that it was the merely laudanum taking hold, but Elizabeth only believed that his inhibitions were lowered, thereby revealing something of his truer nature and, to her, an intriguing aspect of his character. He could be amusing, charming, surprising. It was odd to find him in possession of these descriptives that she would have never attributed to him, but she could not dislike her findings.

How he had made her laugh when he had spoken as her mother! The caricature, though exaggerated, had been so startlingly accurate that Elizabeth could not help bursting into laughter at his performance. She had always found her mother ridiculous. As his method of poking fun was laden with more the desire to make her laugh than anything else, she delighted in it. She had always wondered how her mother would fare as some longsuffering gentleman's mother-in-law.

Having attended Mr. Darcy almost every waking moment of every day, it was hardly a surprise to her when his beard began to grow, first only as a hint of colour around his jawline, then threatening to envelop the bottom half of his face entirely. Cartwright had, unfortunately, been called away shortly after the accident to visit his ill mother, and Elizabeth had been attempting to persuade the footman, to shave him in the valet's stead. John, as he was called, refused, maintain that his master would be seriously displeased if he should undertake the task, the outcome of his doing so before not having been pleasant for either party.

Elizabeth did not dare to ask what had happened and reluctantly accepted the fact that she might join John in the league of those not knowing how to wield a razor. The task itself was strangely gratifying in the end. As the small tufts of hair fell from his face, she was rewarded with the handsome countenance of a man she could no longer despise. In the past days, she had recollected that his mouth was pleasing when he spoke. The dignity he so often comported himself with was a quiet one. And when quite alone, she saw all the favorable aspects of his heart that she had before overlooked. Had this only been the man she had met in Hertfordshire! She would have then been in certain danger.

"I shall certainly resist. You are more amiable than I have ever seen you. I've certainly no cause to murder such a happy husband." She smiled wickedly.

Upon inspection of his now clean-shaven face, Elizabeth had the satisfaction of seeing Mr. Darcy looking generally impressed by her work. She had always particularly rejoiced in a job well done, especially when noticed by another. And now it seemed, also, when noticed by _him._

"I believe you have done quite well, Mrs. Darcy. You did miss a very little bit here, though.."

Elizabeth frowned and bent forward closer to the spot which Mr. Darcy was indicating, near the bottom of his jaw. She had most certainly gotten every bit of his scruff. She was sure of it and meant to tell him so. His eyes were clearly failing him. She was all the more surprised, therefore, when her arms were grasped and Mr. Darcy gently pulled her downwards to close the distance between them, pressing his lips softly against hers for just a moment before releasing his grip upon her. Elizabeth barely registered the event until it was over, and when she did, her cheeks reddened deeply as she straightened her posture. He looked almost maddeningly satisfied with himself for such a move, but yet there was such a child-like brightness in his eyes that Elizabeth could not be provoked and could only applaud his cleverness.

"There. now it is no longer a mystery. I should think it was every bit as wonderful as I considered it might be. I thank you for your diligent care, Mrs. Darcy."

"You say that I stole your heart first, but now you've stolen a kiss from me, Mr. Darcy. I suppose we will call it quits now."

His smile was so warm she feared the pain of a burn.

She could not leave his side fast enough, so frantic was the beating of her heart. _I am no longer indifferent to him and he loves me. It does not have to be so very bad. He is not as unworthy as I've made him to be. If this is his true nature, I could begin to find myself quite content. Oh, why can I not stop blushing?!_

She returned to his side a half hour later and found him asleep, his face relaxed so much that the vision was a tender one. She hoped her fear of him being sensible would desist and that he would not recall the care she had taken with him.

The doctor's assessment was that Mr. Darcy's progress was so satisfactory that his dose of laudanum was to be tapered down to a halt. Elizabeth was delighted; the gash at the back of Mr. Darcy's head had mended beautifully. The fever would soon break, and life would continue. _Oh, please let us begin anew as friends. I cannot bear that it should be anything else._

Her anxiety at having him restored fully to her was enough to prompt her to abandon his side. She yearned for a bath and a fresh dress and wondered at him ever seeing her so neglectful of her own appearance. She smiled gratefully to her maid as she stepped into a robe. "Oh, thank you… I am sure Mr. Darcy would not have wished to see me as frightful as I was before. The laudanum surely helped matters along as he did not seem to notice."

" I believe the master knows how fortunate he is with his lovely new bride. No one who has seen the two of you could deny it."

"I should really go to Mrs. Reynolds with your impertinence," Elizabeth teased with a yawn. "But your kindness flatters me, and so I cannot be as displeased as I would wish to be." She smiled. "Thank you again. I think I shall rest now."

Elizabeth had not been abed long when she awakened to the news that Mr. Darcy had risen and now seemed fully recovered. With a cry of delight, Elizabeth rushed out of the room and made her way briskly to Mr. Darcy's chambers. He was seated on an arm chair, pale but otherwise cleaned, dressed and almost exactly as she had known him before. Elizabeth entered his room smiling, genuinely rejoicing that he had pulled through the tumultuous period and had survived such an accident generally unscathed. He caught sight of her expression, however, and instantly a dark gloom clouded his features. Though she had seen him irritable during his fever before, there was something more sober and more resentful about the brewing anger that had taken hold of him; it extinguished the smile from Elizabeth's face, stealing her joy along with it.

"Mrs. Darcy," he said softly. There was none of that slightly mad, but easy tone that he had employed when he was not fully lucid. Instead, it was a soft tone, drenched in the poison of bitterness. "You are free to resume your role as happily unfettered wife. I shall live. Unfortunately, I did not meet the same fate as poor Brutus. You won't be made a widow just yet, no doubt a disappointment. Better to be made a widow than to be shackled to a man you cannot-,"

Elizabeth frowned here once again. The time spent in the company of a Mr. Darcy that could not recall any details about the past her made her grow strange to one that could. Her mind was in chaos; her heart sank. In the interval in which she maintained a confused silence, Mr. Darcy stalked past her as if he could not bear to be in her presence. A welling sob followed belatedly.

"I'll be in my study, I thank you, most sincerely, for your attention to my health. I know it must have been a sacrifice of the greatest kind." Upon this, Mr. Darcy stopped in his tracks, and spun around at last to face her. Elizabeth could barely lift her eyes to his face. "I do thank you, Elizabeth. I only wish…well, it does not matter. I shall be in my study. Pray, concern yourself no more. I feel fine. A little embarrassed that you were made to care for me, ashamed for my clumsiness, and grieved for my sister who must be terrified... that is all. Shall you send her to me?"

Confusion reigned once again. Elizabeth could not figure out if Mr. Darcy did or did not retain the memories of everything that had transpired between them during the length of his convalescence. While nursing him back to health, she had begun to speak with him playfully because she knew he would not retain a recollection of it, but now she sorely wished that he had.

The following weeks threw Elizabeth further into sorrow and gloom, a sharp contrast from the hours that she had passed in Mr. Darcy's sick room. Though she had had little food or rest out of dedication to her duties, Elizabeth had spent a much happier and light-hearted time at his bedside, entertaining and teasing him during his moods. Her charge was now relieved of, but Mr. Darcy had transitioned immediately into a sullen and cold temper, as if he could not bear the sight of his wife. He spent as little time as he could in her presence. The laughter and playfulness that had so marked their interactions in his sick room was now but a bittersweet memory, provoking only tears at a happiness that had expired into a time that could not be brought back again.

Whenever in Mr. Darcy's presence, Elizabeth did her utmost to maintain as cheerful a disposition as she could, but her attempts at reaching at least some common ground of neutrality with Mr. Darcy were always severely rebuffed. He usually spoke to her with a tight voice barely concealing anger and disappointment, sometimes giving way to outbursts of deep exasperation.

He was bent on resentment and seemed to think her affections won by Wickham. If she could undo her actions from the past, Elizabeth was more than inclined to feel that she would. She yearned to tell Mr. Darcy that she knew the whole truth behind his relationship with Mr. Wickham, to apologize for all that she had said to him before and after their marriage, and that she had only walked towards Wickham's portrait out of mere surprise and curiosity, rather than intending it as any slight upon Mr. Darcy. These confessions, however, died upon her lips every time she was in his presence, for she always found herself attempting to nurse fresher wounds.

The house could not be immune to the change in him. Though Mr. Darcy was never rude to the servants, there was a friendliness in spirit and manner that seemed absent from his air after his recovery. Elizabeth felt keenly the deprivation of his kindness to her. His good opinion once lost, seemed, it had been lost forever. It was misery of the deepest kind, and she yearned to awake from the nightmare of being married to so changeable a man.

"You, for one, Mrs. Darcy, would never give up your personal pleasures for anyone," Mr. Darcy had coolly remarked Elizabeth was attempting to begin a conversation over dinner, about the book that she had just finished. "You were perhaps more busy exploring your woods and groves while I was near death's door, mayhaps daydreaming of another..." Georgiana looked up in surprise at this statement, but Elizabeth maintained a stoic silence. She had heard this before in their own rooms. Mr. Darcy continued, as if he could not stop himself. "You're already a mistress of a large estate, perhaps it did not quite matter to you if I lived, died or ended up somewhere in between."

Georgiana gaped and opened her mouth as if to reply, but Elizabeth shot her a look over her wine glass, which silenced the girl. Over the weeks that had elapsed since Mr. Darcy had come to himself again, she had continually faced his accusation that she had been apathetic about the state of his injuries and could not have brought herself to care. She had, at first, rebutted Mr. Darcy with some warmth, had even attempted to embrace him, to beg him to see that she had not left his side. He had growled and released her, and she had watched him retreat in the greatest mortification, quaking as she knew that he could not bring himself to care for her. She recalled the truth behind Mr. Darcy's dealings with Mr. Wickham, and reminded herself that Mr. Darcy had also suffered through the same agony of not being able to reveal the truth of his innocence in the face of uncivil words and a wife that swore she would never return his affections. Perhaps she deserved the removal of his love.

He stood from the table and quit the room as tears filled the younger girl's eyes.

"What is _wrong_ with him? I hear how he speaks to you, and I am sure I cannot bear it. The doctor said he would return to us as he ever was."

"Mr. Darcy is perfectly correct. There is nothing wrong with him."

"But there is such cruelty in his tone. I do not even think him the same man."

"He believes me to favor Wickham and will not hear me when I attempt to deny it."

"He is wrong. He is dreadfully wrong. Won't you let me tell him what I have told you?"

"No, Georgiana, I have done this to myself. It shall be my cross to bear. "

"But he loves you. I know he does. He is behaving so badly. It is so unlike him. Can you not love him? Is there no hope for your happiness? You must fight for your happiness, sister!"

" I do not know myself. I do not know what I can or cannot offer. I do not know what it is to love."

"You need offer him nothing. He is so good that he can surely overlook it. You need only talk to-"

"Sister." There came a voice from the door and both ladies started, Georgiana's face going white as her brother motioned her out of the room.

"I am sorry, Elizabeth, truly sorry. . .I must go-"

" _Now_ , Georgiana."

The younger girl rose to stand, shakily curtsied and quit the room.


	8. Chapter 8

Georgiana stood before him, looking quite as she did when she was but a child of five or six years old, her eyes wide and despondent as she gathered her courage to say, "Fitzwilliam, I shall never forgive you if you continue to abuse Elizabeth in such a way. You are too good of a man to treat her so wretchedly. You are mistaken if you think she pursued her own pleasure while you were abed. She would not think of leaving your side. She would not hear of me or even Mrs. Reynolds relieving her. You have been so cold to accuse her of such negligence. You would do very well to beg for her forgiveness. I do not know what you are about, but I have never seen you behave in such a fashion!"

Pinching his fingers to the bridge of his nose, He accepted this appeal with all the patience he felt he could muster, feeling, first, the colour drain from his face before the mortifying sensation of it reappearing with the greatest of heat. Georgiana had never spoken so out of turn, not even the previous summer when she had so vacillated between equal parts anger and shamed misery. He sighed heavily and allowed his hand to drop away from his face, a line forming between his brows as he stared down to her.

"Georgiana."

His tone was sedate, a headache mounting as he considered what a ridiculous shamble he had made of things. He could hardly abide discussing such a topic with a much younger sister. He could scarcely believe he had revealed so much in the dining room, that he had so allowed his despair to pierce through the fabric of basic civility time and time again. There was no denying the past weeks had been filled with such a departure, but Jealousy was not a gracious master and never had been. All he wished to do was retreat to his rooms where the dark, dancing eyes of his wife could no longer haunt him, where maybe a poor excuse for rest could overtake him. If rest could not be had, there was always brandy.

"Fitzwilliam."

She reached carefully for his hand, her own trembling in her distress. His face softened only slightly and he closed his fingers about hers as he began to speak, agitation threatening to gain the upperhand in its battle with composure.

"Georgiana, I refuse to see how any of this, dearest, is your concern. You will only bring distress and disappointment upon yourself if you continue in this way." How to tread lightly there, he did not know.

She snatched her hand from his, her eyes shimmering with tears. "Then you refuse to see reason. You refuse to see your own folly. You fled this house because your pride was wounded and flee her side because it remains so. I have long thought you the very best of men, but you truly begin to make me doubt. Accusing her of thinking of another? What a vile and heartless supposition to make when she has done her duty, remained at your side, tended your wounds. You truly do not remember? Are my words -- hers-- truly not enough? That you would disregard these things and show her censure. It is heartily surprising to me she wed you at all if that is all you presented to her, Brother."

This, uttered in such a rush of feeling, was enough to undo Georgiana almost entirely. Having never in her life crossed her brother, having never imagined she would be capable of even wishing to speak to him so, her cheeks were bright red with the exertion and her shame was near overpowering as she dipped into a tearful curtsy and moved past him, stricken at the cruelty of her own words and more than mortified at such an outburst when in he hearing of their servants.

"Georgiana," he called as she fled, his own shame catching up to him. What a fine to do.

A tantrum of its likeness he had never seen from her, but the strength to wonder at it was snuffed out as he attempted to gather his wits enough to return to his wife in the dining room, determined that such a scene be not repeated in that quarter.

"What do you mean Mrs. Darcy has decided to take a walk? Whatever can she mean by that?" His eyes narrowed as he stared out the window, a huff leaving him as he took in the sight of the dark clouds rolling in.

Mrs. Reynolds looked to her master uncomfortably, accustomed somewhat to his back and forth temperament since the accident but knowing not how to answer him when he spoke so. This behavior she had not seen in all of four and twenty years and she could not be glad at it. If only it would cease forthwith and they could return to some measure of peace. That would most certainly be something she could warm to.

"Sir, she wished to take a turn. That is all she told me." She wondered what she was to do about it. She could hardly have forced the mistress to stay and finish her supper even if she had wished it! This, of course, she did not say. It would not have been helpful and the master was already in a fit state.

"But it's raining. And it's near dusk."

"She meant to take a quick turn and nothing more. I am sure she is well on her way to returning to the house." Even devotion stored up over the course of four and twenty years

could lead to a lapse in patience every now and then. She thought better of what she wished to say, believing her master to still be a good, principled man and managed a light, "Sir, only just. I am sure we have all been out in worse and that no harm will come to Mrs. Darcy."

It had grown colder. Though nearly June, it could still be frigid in the North, especially when a Derbyshire rain pummeled the earth. He would find her not far from the house and looking every bit the enchanting picture that had beguiled him at Netherfield. She was seated on a low hanging branch of the tree closest to the house, the heavy foliage protecting her from the determined tumult, her pelisse wrapped tightly about her and her expression guarded.

He approached slowly, his mouth settling into a grim line.

She eyed him warily before averting

her gaze, choosing instead to rest her eyes on what promised to be the best place-- the muddy ground below.

"When I think of how my mother might behave to witness the new mistress of Pemberley soiling her gown by sitting perched in a tree in the middle of a rain," he uttered, gravity mixed with astonishment. "Her shock would be complete."

"And did Old Mr. Darcy give Lady Anne much cause to retreat in such inclement weather, sir?" Dark eyes shifted upwards to meet his, glimmering even in the fading light.

"I cannot say. My mother had a care for her petticoats."

"Have you come then, Mr. Darcy, to lay more accusations at my feet?"

"I have come to collect you inside so you do not catch your death of cold. This is hardly Hertfordshire."

She scoffed, a few weeks of her husband's derision beginning to wear her down despite her resolution for civility. Hardly Hertfordshire, indeed!

"It is a wonder, sir, if you do not care that I live, die, or find myself somewhere between." She lifted a brow and shifted further from him when he stepped closer, her hand gripping the branch to steady herself. "I have no wish to presently return to the house. You may do so if you like, but I have never known any great harm to come to me whilst sitting amongst branches and leaves."

"My behaviour just earlier was unpardonable. I have come to try and make amends. Do you not recall your sister at Netherfield and how she fared so poorly after being caught in the rain? Come down. It would be insupportable for you to remain so. I implore you to come down this instant."

"Jane is a more delicate creature than I, sir. I shall certainly not find myself succumbing to a cold, but do tell how you were planning to make amends. I am all anticipation. And indeed, I am all surprise. You seem a man who is always quite punctual. It seems, when faced with the prospect of reconciliation, you are quite late."

"Must I drag you down myself?" Infuriating madness. He lifted his hand to the branch and she made to shift over, nearly losing her balance as she pulled back her hand where his fingers had touched hers.

Her eyes flashed suddenly, two bright spots of pink gracing her cheeks.

"No. Return to the house if you intend to go about it that way, sir."

"Pardon?"

"No. Have you never been answered no?"

"Do you make a habit of refusing offers of peace?"

"Only when I am unsure of them. I am not certain that the threat of being dragged anywhere would lead to any form of lasting peace. You would not mortify me in such a way. You had, at one time, shown yourself to have some kindness for me. I would ask you to remember it before you make us both ridiculous with such a scheme."

This caused his lips to twitch.

"Was not offering my hand the very greatest kindness?"

"I must say that the kindness you bestowed was overshadowed by the way you chose to insult my relations. I love those you find so abhorrent. Perhaps my sisters do run wild and perhaps my mother can be utterly and astoundingly ridiculous, but it does not alter the course of my affection. Something tells me, sir, that you would still love Georgiana if she were silly. Something would still make her dear to you. But it remains to be seen if offering your hand was a kindness. Perhaps you would say now that it was not so. If I am to go strictly by the past sennight, I would hasten to think you have not thought it a credit or kindness to either of us. But I, too, have been capable of saying things I regret."

She gasped in surprise when he hoisted himself on the limb beside her. Startled, she gripped at his arm for support, surprised by the very notion that he, of all people, would be able to do such a thing so easily.

"I am told I should beg your forgiveness." Dark eyes shifted to her uncertainly and were all the more warm for the earnest light that shone in them.

"Begging forgiveness is not something I would ascribe to you. I am sure you have never begged for anything in your life." Her cheeks were suddenly awash in pink at the remembrance of him doing just that for her kisses in the sickroom, and she tamped down that memory with force, certain that,whatever incarnation of him she had seen, it was certainly not the same man. This man, this infuriating, vexing man of recent days, was nothing to the Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy that had been in her care. She could have laughed or cried for it!

"I begged for God to spare my mother," he answered quietly, staring toward the house, expression unreadable.

She watched as he swallowed away whatever seed of emotion had taken root and knew not what to say. Whatever retort had been intended for him was lost as she observed his countenance, acutely ashamed at how needlessly playful she could be while in the company of someone who seemed to carry and recall such private pain. "I am grieved to hear it, sir."

"So it seems I should be well acquainted with how begging does not often achieve the desired end. Stay if it suits you. This was not the work of a moment, so asking your forgiveness after treating you so badly for so long probably sounds like rot and nonsense. It was wrong of me, just now, to mention my mother. Forgive me."

There came that unguarded look that had so touched her just weeks before, only, instead of open adoration, there was a turbulent mix of anger and sadness. Discomfited, she looked away as her heart could not help but swell with compassion at the thought of a child who had lost his mother all too soon. In possession of both her parents, she could not begin to wonder at being deprived of them both. She knew their loss would be felt most keenly.

"Mr. Darcy." She paused. He had mentioned his mother twice, and she wondered at how close he must have been to her to speak so. It seemed he had cherished her deeply. She eagerly wished to turn the subject away from such unhappiness, hoping that on the other side of this there existed some bit of goodness that might sustain them. "I am truly sorry for the loss of both your parents. It has likely not been easy to grow accustomed to life without them, but you were speaking of forgiveness first. Do you believe you should ask for mine? You have been told you should, but do you think it necessary?"

"If you, indeed, did as you and Georgiana claimed you have done, yes."

"Very well then. It is settled."

He looked to her with some bewilderment, dark eyes searching her face.

"Truly?"

"You shall ask for forgiveness and I shall grant it. You were hardly sensible after your injury and it would be unfair for me to expect you to remember every instance, but I am glad you begin to come around to it. I would also ask for my own measure of forgiveness, that you would accept that what I said to you before your fall was said in bitterness. I believe now that I wished to be unkind and deeply regret it."

"And where, pray, do we go from there?" This was uttered with such hope that she could not help the tease that was quickly on its way from her lips.

"Do not be dull, Mr. Darcy. Inside the house, sir, where we are surely to be safe from catching our death of cold."

He smiled despite himself, a conscious thrill causing his chest to tighten.

"Do I have your forgiveness, Mrs. Darcy?"

"Indubitably. But do say you will refrain from believing the very worst of me. Might I have yours also, sir? Is your good opinion, once lost, truly lost forever?"

There came another smile, wider than the first. She began to see what she had been blind to before, a return to the man who had occupied the sick room, a glimpse into what could be. She was determined that this side of him not retreat anytime soon as she now held something of a fondness for it.

"Perhaps that statement could be amended." His eyes had warmed in the course of their dialogue, and she was struck at how truly warm they could be, not dark brown as she had known them to be, rather a muddy hazel. And when filled with affection, they were truly lovely.

"How generous of you." In truth, her heart could not have hammered any louder at the look that followed those words. It was generous and she would not fail to realize her good fortune after so many weeks that lacked that generosity of spirit. "Then I am satisfied."

"Then let us back to the house." He dropped from the branch, boots sinking into the mud, and extended his hand.

This time, she could not think of a reason to hesitate in taking it and smiled as her own boots sank into the mud.

"Only, sir, if you will see straightaway to the welfare of your sister. We have given her much to contemplate and lament. In future, sir, if we find ourselves disagreeable to the other-- and I am sure we shall, we must take pains to not rail away before her as it will only lead to confusion and distress."

"There is wisdom in that, to be sure, but I do not relish so quickly returning to strife. Perhaps she will be relieved to know it will not happen again. In telling her that, I am sure to be forgiven my sins."

"Do that, if it pleases you, but, for my own part, I do not make any promises. This is all very new, sir. You must make some allowances for my behavior or I shall only gravely disappoint you."

"You truly think so?"

She smiled, looking toward the house. "Oh, I am more than capable of muddling things up."

"You are not alone in that."

The rain had eased as they walked back toward the house, him mindful not to let her slip even as her boots had other carefully laid plans.

There came, then, a moment where he was not as diligent in his duty. The pleasant distraction of having his heart restored to its rightful place in his chest somehow interfered with his intention of making sure his wife stepped only on ground that was not heavily mired.

A moment of looking away resulted in her losing her footing entirely. Hopeless to catch her, he watched in abashment as she fell and felt profound horror the next moment when he joined her, an oath flying from his lips at the surprise of it.

But she was laughing, merrily, happily-- her skirts entirely unsalvageable, the pelisse in a similar state, the rain hardly an impediment to the guileless joy that caused her to do so. His exclamation had only made her giggle harder, making it nigh impossible for him to not consciously chuckle.

"It seems, sir, we are also quite proficient in muddying things up." She took a look at her hand that had braced her fall, covered pitifully with mud and nearly cried with laughter. "And what would your mother think of this, sir? I am hardly fit now to be mistress of so grand a place."

"She would admonish me for not keeping you upright. And rightly so."

She laughed again. "And I would implore her to be easy with you. It seems you have enough trouble keeping yourself upright.

"Oh, fie, Mrs. Darcy. That is hardly fair."

She smiled and would have said more, but his lips intervened before she had the opportunity, soft and warm and entirely surprising, causing a rush of breath to escape her when the kiss had, at last, concluded. Her hand, still covered in mud, has come to rest against his waistcoat, fingers curling into the fabric despite their mucky state.

Flushed, she nodded down to it, a pale green streaked in brown. Clearly unbothered-- had he not been the most fastidious of men?-- he made to withdraw his handkerchief and assist where he could, making an even greater mess of it as his own hands were also near covered.

He moved to stand, helping her to do so as well, stealing a pleased glance at her. In companionable silence they walked toward the house, straight faced in the sight of the ruffled butler who had hastened to open the door. Boots and outerwear divested, Mrs. Reynolds could not help but affectionately cluck at the sight of them, calling two of the maids to go about with the heating of water for baths.

Some time later, she would reflect on how she had never seen him quite so happy, mud and grass aside. Cartwright, the valet, would have quite the opposite opinion, and that made her chortle quietly as she thought of him, labouring to make that waistcoat pristine again.

Mrs. Reynolds would be astounded then, if she had known, that Mr. Darcy had instructed Cartwright to not launder it and keep it exactly as it was.

Unaccustomed to this advent of sentiment from his generally sensible master, Cartwright thought it a very good thing he was not wed. Apparently it robbed a man of all practicality.


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry, guys... for some reason when I copy paste from my docs on my phone, all the typos and mashed text come to life. This a bit of a bipolar chapter for our lovebirds. I wrote in my profile that I had plenty in my real life to keep me from writing, but I wanted to update and keep it going. Thank you so much for following along, commenting, encouraging. I appreciate it very much and feel flattered to have some of your attention for a little while! 3**

Worrying her teeth against the curve of her lower lip, she sat on the carpet of her bedchamber, willing her heart to cease in its wild fluttering as she mused on all that had happened in the space of an evening— not even an evening— mere moments, it seemed! Her mouth had not stopped tingling nor had her face regained its usual colour. A pleasant warmth suffused her from head to toe. All because of a kiss. Had her father known such a thing to discomfit her, he would have declared his most intelligent daughter to be as silly and romantic as her younger sisters. She found that the notion did not pain her as it once might have; it did not pain her at all! How strange to suddenly think of her father when her ruminations were for a man who was, in so many ways, his complete opposite.

A kiss. It had been certainly different than the kisses bestowed that first and only night she had spent with him as his wife and was certainly a great departure from the only other kiss he had attempted in the sickroom. She would not include the kiss that had united them in marriage. In any event, she could not have remembered it had she tried. The day of their wedding, unwelcome as it had been, she had been keen on forgetting it altogether or imagining it was nothing more than a bad dream. Duty to her family or not, she had not nursed even the slightest wish for the man to kiss her then or ever. How strange that their marriage had been consummated at all. A willing party and a lamb who felt rather like being led to slaughter.

Such a remembrance brought such a flush to her cheeks that she felt, at once, Missish and foolish and absolutely mortified. How strange to be a bride, to have been to a man's bed, undoubtedly the most intimate place a woman could be, and to know so very little about the man--to have known and seen that private side of him without wishing it! Would it have all been different had she entered into the marriage with some appreciation for his sentiments? At once, she felt the rush of sympathy she had not been capable of feeling before. With sympathy, it seemed, came greater shame and a fervent wish to reverse the damage she had inflicted.

She forced herself to think of something, anything else.

Jane. Had she not done all of this for Jane? And what of her dearest sister? She had not written to her in the last fortnight, at least nothing beyond cursory sentences describing her husband's accident and subsequent recovery. And in the last reply she had received there had been nothing of Jane's heart revealed, only the appropriate concern shown for a beloved sister's ailing husband. What had this marriage done to secure Jane's happiness, to provide security to the rest of her sisters and mother in the event her father should leave them all for his reward? She had no doubt that Mr. Darcy had been generous in his settlement. That he had married her alone, that he had elevated her at all— it was nothing short of extraordinary. Of course arrangements would be made. Of course the Bennet girls would not suffer. He was nothing but duty and honour. But would he seek to rebuild the foundation he had destroyed by his selfish interference should she allow hiM the chance?

She had not yet begun to work on Mr. Darcy in the way she had vowed to. The subject too painful to mention and certain to remind her husband of all the grief that had already befallen them, she had taken care to not revisit it when his feelings were already so volatile. How was she even to begin to rectify the many wrongs that had taken place? And how would she ever bring up her sister's heartache without wounding her husband anew and reminding him of the cruelty with which she had accepted his suit? It seemed an abysmal prospect and selfish to mention her desires for Jane's chances of happiness when they themselves were not yet on firm footing.

Dwelling on such questions seemed to only lead to more questions. Whether it was the time spent at his bedside in guilt and misery of the acutest sort or merely that she could not bear to let her natural cheerfulness be snuffed out, she could not say. She was utterly confused by it all. She certainly could not help but be confused by Fitzwilliam Darcy!

Fitzwilliam. Had she ever called him as such? She allowed the syllables to roll from her tongue into the silence of the room and giggled despite herself. Such an odd name, but she could not readily think of another that suited him quite so well. It was rather a mouthful, but it had a charming ring to it. And how might he take to her using it?

They were married, yes, but it seemed as if they would always be navigating the treacherous waters of courtship. And although she was unaccustomed to seeing marriage exhibited in such a way that mutual felicity was apparent, she seriously doubted that swinging back and forth on a pendulum was the best way to go about it.

Elizabeth had begun the troublesome business of falling in love with her husband; was that not true fortune? But she could not be sure which Mr. Darcy she felt more for, the strange gentleman of the sickroom or the one she had vowed to despise for eternity.

She began to dwell on the latter. For that was the true man, was it not? Having spent so much time thinking him to be devoid of feeling anything other than contempt for those not within his carefully crafted circles, she had been surprised to find him in possession of anything that recommended him beyond his w wealth nd handsome appearance.

He had offered for her out of love despite his many reservations at uniting himself to a family who, by all accounts, was entirely beneath his notice. She sighed heavily; that alone was sufficient proof of at least some sort of lasting devotion, that he was denying himself what was unquestionably owed to a man of his sort, a wife who was so much more, someone other than a country miss from Hertfordshire. She could be nothing more than a wife he would certainly grow to resent when the first flush of passion began to fade away.

She could not be pleased with the course of those thoughts and tried desperately to shake them away. The idea of him falling out of love with her was as disturbing as the notion that a man of his ilk could love her. She was too selfish a creature to pretend her pride would not be hurt if he did somehow find she was not worth the trouble and turn elsewhere. How many great men took mistresses? She did not know for certain. Other than her mother's brief speech on how she needed only provide him with an heir before he could make off to Town, she had not given it a second thought.

She suddenly found it made her stomach turn. It was best to meditate on how much he had esteemed her and to hope his devotion was steadfast and true, unbelievable as it continued to be.

How was she to have known he had nurtured such affection for so many months? His countenance had been sullen. He had hardly ever smiled, looked vexed by everything their society in Hertfordshire had offered, and, she was sure, had only looked her way to find fault. There was absolutely nothing in his bearing then that betrayed deep feelings of any sort, other than those of unrelenting disapproval.

And she, she owned, had only looked his way to wonder at why he was so preoccupied with those glaring faults that could have been of such little use to him. She had been hardly more than civil in their associations. Piqued by his insult at the small Meryton assembly that past September, she had not had to look far to dislike him more. He had apologised for that in the sickroom, albeit he probably could not remember a word of the apology if he tried.

And yet...she was now his wife. And he had, indeed, suffered much to make it so.

He had risked the very real displeasure of his relations. Lady Catherine would have been a formidable adversary on her own, but there was also his uncle the Earl of Matlock to contend with. What had he come to know of her and had he reacted as his sister had? Should she be preparing herself for an even larger tempest, more ridicule at the hands of someone so wholly unconnected to her?

She was sure she had not yet come to know of all the anger leveled at Mr. Darcy by tying himself to her. It made her flush in mortification to consider that she, always regarded as one of the principal beauties in Hertfordshire, was likely reduced to nothing when united with such a man as her husband. Perhaps he had whisked her off to Derbyshire because he was ashamed of her. She might be a good sort to warm his bed, but perhaps he did not think her fit for the drawing rooms and musical evenings of the Ton.

This caused the curious sensation of tears to prick in her eyes and she drew up her hand to catch them lest they were successful in their endeavor to roll down her cheeks. She forced her thoughts back to his relatives, determined to not let her injured feelings be the victor. Besides, it was she who had envisioned this. He had not confirmed or denied it. And did not most men wish to be with their wives so soon after their vows? Why should she attribute shame to him?

Lady Catherine had certainly been determined he feel shame for taking her for his bride. She could not have been more vocal with her searing disapproval.

In truth, ever since she had so hastily written a note to Rosings to relay that he had fallen his horse, the letters from that quarter had started to pour in rapidly. She was fortunate that Lady Catherine had chosen to apply her views on the match to paper rather than travel to Derbyshire and demand a private audience with her nephew while he was still unwell. What a sight that would have been, Mr. Darcy hardly sensible and his aunt making demands left and right, terrifying the servants and declaring them as unfit for their roles as she was for being their new mistress.

Another small and diverted giggle passed her lips at the thought. Thank goodness for small mercies. Mr. Darcy would have been fit to be tied had she imposed in such a manner. The very thought made her smile. He would not have been half as agreeable to her aunt as he had been to her.

She recalled next how she had wished for him to recover, how keenly she had felt the pressing weight of her guilt and the role she had played, no matter how unwittingly, in his leaving the house so angrily. What would she have said to him after he returned to the house that night if he had come back able bodied and resentful? They likely would have only spoken in circles if they had spoken at all. His feelings so wounded, she did not know if she would have sought him out and she could not know if he would have been eager to return to her side. Would he have drank himself into a stupor and thundered about as some men did? Would he have resorted to violence? Certainly not. She shuddered at the thought. The man was many things, but he was decidedly not that, no matter how his temper sometimes reigned supreme.

She made to stand and smooth out the wrinkles of her night gown, curiosity motivating her to do something she might not have done before. She would ask him. Why should she not? What harm could there be in it? Just as she had risen from her place on the rug and was steeling herself to seek him out, she heard a soft rap on her door. Expecting to see one of the maids come to turn down the bed, she was shocked to see that it was instead the very object of her thoughts.

He looked just as surprised as she that he was there, and she could not stop the rise of laughter even if she had tried. His expression was one of severity and tenderness. If ever there were two states that warred with the other, they were these, but they somehow belonged to him, somehow amplifying already handsome features. How had she not thought so before? Perhaps it had everything to do with insulting remarks against her person and nothing to do with his. The fleeting wish to smooth out the line of his brow cane to her, but she resisted the urge and spoke instead.

"Are you well, sir? The mud has not harmed you?"

"I am very well. Thank you. Cartwright was displeased to not have the waistcoat laundered immediately , but it could not be helped…"

His voice was brusque. He had wished to say more—she was sure of it— but his voice had trailed off, the thought lingering between them. She could not help but feel some disappointment as he was, once again, so changed to what he had been just before. It was only then that she began to see that he knew not where to look. His eyes were valiantly struggling to remain on her face and to not drift. He was not unhappy with her. He was distracted.

Her cheeks flushed scarlet. What was his business in being there? They had only only just declared some sort of truce. Her mind gave way to every anxiety. Was he coming to claim what was due him? Did she wish to be with him in such a way, so soon? Could a kiss lead to this? Foolish girl! Of course it could; she should be in no doubt of it, having had her own wedding night. Thinking over it before was nothing to having the man, large as life, filling up her door frame and looking at her in such a way. She took a step back. As if that would be able to stop him! But he would not. Surely not! The uncharitable thought caused her to blush hotly.

This was not some ridiculous novel. And he was not some savage. Or was he? His eyes glittered so strangely that he looked as if he very well could be if given the chance.

He did not move. Rather, he appeared bemused. "Are you well, Mrs. Darcy? The mud has not harmed you?" When had his eyes gotten so warm? She felt her throat grow dry and she self consciously allowed her eyes to dart about the room before she lifted them to meet his. Having seen her reflection in the looking glass, she had no doubt which part of her had met with most of the mud.

"I am. I was just about to seek you out," she replied, certain that she sounded absolutely daft and not wishing to was eloquent in mud.

His astonishment was great; this, she could see.

"Oh?"

"Yes." She quickly added. "I wished to ask something of you."

"Alright then. Pray, ask."

"That day we argued, sir, I…"

A crease formed between his brows, but he remained silent as he urged her to continue with piercing eyes. When she did not speak, his mouth twitches upward.

"There has been more than one day, not least of all this one. Which day do you refer to?"

Breathlessly, she forged ahead, dismissing his attempt at levity, her distress mounting as he drew nearer to her.

"I know I injured you more with my words than perhaps your fall from the horse ever could. What would you have said to me if you had returned to the house in fine health and not…"

Merciful heavens. Were her hands actually shaking? His eyes had seemingly followed her own to them and she watched numbly as his larger hand enfolded her smaller ones. Warm and slightly calloused and quite lovely in their masculinity. Had she ever admired a man's hands before? How ridiculous!

"Unconscious?" He grinned, and she could not help but nod with what she felt must have been a silly sort of smile, finally ripping her eyes away from their joined hands to look away. How easy he was about such a somber day. It could not settle well with her. The memory of his dark hair splayed across his deathly pale face lanced her heart.

"I do not know if I could have returned to the house in any way that would have improved matters. I likely would have made it worse. As you well know. Must we go down this path? Have we not decided to be friends?" He tugged her fingers gently until she looked to him again.

Her heart gave an odd sort of flutter, and she answered, "We have."

He edged closer to her and she moved away hastily, not understanding why she chose to do so.

"And have we not already wasted many days on all sorts of discord?"

"It is true, Mr. Darcy, that many days have passed between us that were decidedly unpleasant."

"Why ever did you think it a good idea to revisit that which we cannot change?"

"I simply wished to know. And I..," she looked about the room wildly, suddenly feeling the weight of foolishness as it made its steady descent. "I do not know. There is so much wisdom in remembering the past as it gives you pleasure. But there is so little of our past that has inspired those feelings, so very little of it. And while I have your forgiveness, I find I cannot be satisfied with only that."

"No? You seemed quite content to have it. I am gratified to have secured yours."

She shook her head, "You misunderstand me. Or no, I shall not put the blame on you. I do not express myself very well at all. Least of all now. I cannot be sure of what I am trying to say. It is all so vexing really… to not find words that convey that which I wish to tell you."

He laughed a trifle breathlessly. "I wish I could follow, but I fear I do not."

She felt treacherous tears once more as frustration mounted. Oh, what was she attempting to say? And why was it all so difficult? "I… I would seek to.."

He drew even closer. Impossibly close. Her hands were still gathered in his, cradled in his own, creating too much of a barrier between them. Shaking her hands free of his, she laughed mournfully as his brows knit in disappointment before she threw her arms about him in an embrace. She felt the warmth and security of his own arms tightening about her, and she relaxed against him, her cheek pressed into the fabric of his waistcoat where she was sure she felt his heart drumming steadily beneath, erratic in its beating, as erratic as her own disjointed and confounding thoughts.

She remained there, closing her eyes, finding that it was truly pleasant to be held so. He smelled of soap and something else she could not place. Having come from a house full of girls and having had little experience with gentlemen, she supposed his scent was uniquely male. Another soft laugh fluttered from her lips and she smiled against his chest as she felt the vibrations of his voice when he began to speak, the tears abating as quickly as they had come.

"Seek to… what? You must show some charity. I have never been good at riddles."

"Nor I," she owned, her voice muffled against his cravat.

"You speak a falsehood. Our very acquaintance has been a riddle."

She pulled back, her grin widening even in her exasperation. "You mustn't talk so, not when I am gathering my courage to tell you that I think I might like to be a worthwhile companion to you.

That had won the most beautiful smile from him. If a man could be described as such, he was that to her in that moment, and she could not help but relish how such an expression made her feel. Weightless. Esteemed to a degree that was likely sinful. Hopeful. Overflowing with an affection that she could not begin to name. It bubbled over and she half laugh and half sobbed into her hands when she wrenched them away, simultaneously diverted and overcome with frustration. But in the very next moment, his mien had changed, had lost its openness and was now bland and unreadable.

"Oh, Fitzwilliam! You must say something. I am not made for your silence. I cannot bear it. Have you not heard me?"

"Perfectly, but I do not comprehend." he murmured, the glorious appearance of his teeth vanishing as his brow furrowed, his confusion apparently supreme as she used his Christian name when she had not before. She began to use it again, but he had already taken the opportunity to speak, his tone stilted and pained.

"What was said in the tree that has changed your mind in such a way that you would be willing to say all this—? It does not have to be so hasty, Elizabeth. I do not expect it. We are to be man and wife for years and years, and you did not wish it.. and while I am thankful, beyond so, for reconciliation, I do not think you know of what you speak. I do not wish for you in half measures. I… wish for all of you. And only when you are quite certain of it. I owe you that. You have been dealt this hand, made to marry me. A man who offended and insulted you when he should have done no more than offered his hand and expressed his love. To think of how I spoke to you, to think of how I behaved in the days following your care for me. A spoiled child, content to wallow in my bitterness of spirit, pleased beyond reckoning to allow you to suffer as I believed you had wished me to. I… you had me thinking you had wed me out of spite. I did not wish to even apologise this evening. My sister brought it about.. you quite know she did."

Elizabeth shook her head then, wishing forlornly for another occupation for her hands, despising the gulf that had formed in hardly a moment, confounded that he seemed so dreadfully disappointed by what was a grand revelation.

"Mr. Darcy... I meant what I said before. I would not allow you to labor under the belief that I had forgiven you if I had not. We must agree to believe the best of each other. It will not do to say I love you and have you question me. When and if I speak my love for you, sir, I wish, at the very least, to be believed!"

She gasped, her eyes widening. What had she just uttered? But what was love? Love, she supposed, was what she felt for her family, wishing the best for them in all things, a willingness to take their place if trouble came about. Love was championing another, setting aside one's selfishness. And love must be the way he was looking at her, a whirlwind of feeling in that dark gaze, muddled somewhere betwixt hope and uncertainty and an abundance of feelings— the very deepest and private of feelings on display and not hiding beneath that artful and practiced stare of a London drawing room. How had she ever misinterpreted such a look?

Her earlier secret indignation of him coming to her was abandoned entirely when she realised it had been what she had wanted. Had she not wished him near in those lonely moments upon him waking those many weeks ago? She looked to the floor between them, suddenly too frightened to meet his gaze when it burned so brightly and with such great expectation. His eyes, so warm before, held the heat of pained rejection when she summoned her courage to finally lift her own to his.

"How fortunate for you, then, that I would also wish you to be believed when and if the time comes. At present, it would be too much, too soon. Let us not speak of it. I had only come to wish you a good night and enquirer to your health, Mrs. Darcy, not beg your devotion, though you are kind and dutiful to speak so. You might regret your haste, and I could not bear your resentment. For it would surely come…"

She had felt it before, the sensation of her heart falling to her feet, but it had never ached so acutely as it did then. His reply had been the opposite of what she had expected from him, and it felt as if something was on the verge of failing within her. She drew a faltering breath and blinked frantically, willing away the tears that spiked her lashes and robbed her of speech. How could he be so severe, a man who she was sure was capable of such gentleness?

When she could, at last, speak, she murmured softly, "I would have you know I was never made to marry you. You asked and I accepted. But we have been through that already, and I would not have history repeat itself. I did not seek to argue. You may remember we parted as friends, to put all of it quite behind us.."

She supposed he could not help the way his brow fell into another line and she sighed, "What has changed? What has happened between now and our time outside?" She gave into the desire that time, to smooth it away with a light touch, and gave a small and disbelieving laugh when he stepped back as if scalded.

"Don't."

She took a step forward. "Why ever not? You are distressed."

"Yes, but it is of my own making. I am ashamed of how unsteady I have been. If you continue to touch me as such, I would later be hateful as I dwelt on it. I would revisit every instance and think of how it might be if you really loved me, if you had not once despised me…"

"Fitzwilliam," she spoke again, the thoughts of the past hour catching up to her and making her braver than she might have been."I would wish to be happy with you. Of course I have come to love you in some way, only it is not easy to speak it when you look as if you really do not wish to hear it. You appear in this moment as you did in that Meryton Assembly room those many months ago. And I so wish you would not, for it was rather agreeable to have been kissed this evening. And if you continue in this fashion, sir, we may never kiss again and then I shall be cross at you for not taking the path of our mutual happiness. You must abandon your stubborn notions of how you would have it and accept it for what it is, sir!"

He looked as shocked by her words as she did by speaking them, but, to her mixed delight and anticipation, she was not waiting long. She was nearly dragged into his embrace as his lips found hers with a great deal more passion than she had previously thought him capable of feeling. If she had pondered overmuch the kiss from the tree, she would not have the time to think of the ones he so eagerly bestowed then.

She felt her knees grow unsteady and found herself clinging to his lapels. She would have laughed had she been able, but she found her lips more agreeably engaged.

When they did part for breath, it was not a laugh that escaped her lips as he pulled away— more a soft plea—"Fitzwilliam, do stay. I would have you here if you would wish it. "


End file.
